.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


PRIVATE   GASPARD 


PRIVATE  GASPARD 

A  SOLDIER  OF  FRANCE 


TRANSLATED  FROM   THE  FRENCH  OF 

RENE  BENJAMIN 

BY    SELMER    FOUGNER 


BRENTANO'S 

NEW  YORK 

1916 


Copyright,  1916,  by  Brentano's 


PRIVATE   GASPARD 


2129372 


PRIVATE  GASPARD 

A  SOLDIER  OF  FRANCE 


IT  was  during  the  great  week  of  August,  1914, 
when  each  town  in  every  province  offered  a  regi- 
ment to  France.  The  city  of  A ,  the  county 

seat  of  a  corner  of  Normandy,  did  its  share  as  well 
as  all  the  others  in  organizing  and  equipping  its  quota 
of  men. 

The  houses  and  their  inhabitants  have  nothing  of 
a  warlike  character  in  A .  The  people  of  Nor- 
mandy are  above  everything  else  of  a  practical  na- 
ture. In  every  eye  you  can  first  of  all  see  that  two 
and  two  are  four,  while  many  seem  to  regret  that 
two  and  two  cannot  make  five.  But  in  none  may  be 
found  a  really  ardent  desire  to  go  to  war.  The  sol- 
diers' barracks  appear  almost  to  be  hidden  away  from 
the  public  eye ;  it  is  impossible  to  find  them  without 
a  guide,  and  the  guide  must  necessarily  be  a  soldier. 

The  first  of  these  barracks  is  an  ancient  convent 
at  the  extreme  end  of  a  narrow  passage.  When  the 
soldiers  are  consigned  to  their  barracks,  when  the 
streets  are  deserted — as  is  often  the  case  during  the 


2  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

summer  in  the  early  part  of  the  afternoon — when 
the  town  is  half  asleep  and  the  clouds  roll  slowly  by 

it  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  that  the  town  of  A 

could  actually  be  capable  of  producing  a  real  regi- 
ment, strong  and  well  disciplined,  marching  by  with 
the  rattling  of  the  bayonets  and  the  steps  of  the 
iron-shod  shoes. 

And  yet  this  miracle  was  accomplished. 

First  of  all  the  shopkeepers  fill  the  streets.  M. 
Romarin,  the  barber  of  the  Grand  Rue,  was  the  first 
to  come  out.  Raising  both  arms  skyward  as  though 
he  were  waving  a  flag,  he  motioned  to  the  grocer,  M. 
Clopurte,  that  he  was  preparing  to  go  to  the  front. 
M.  Clopurte  was  also  preparing,  but  with  less  enthu- 
siasm than  the  barber.  One  never  knows  what  might 
happen,  he  thought.  A  poster  had  just  been  dis- 
played at  the  front  of  the  town  hall,  with  what  was 
intended  to  be  a  word  of  consolation  by  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  republic :  "Citizens,  mobilization  does  not 
mean  war." 

"No,  it's  all  intended  as  a  joke,"  sarcastically  re- 
marked the  clerk  of  Maitre  Farce,  the  notary. 

The  latter  was  just  crossing  the  Place  d'Armes  on 
his  way  from  the  law  courts,  where  he  had  just  met 
M.  Fosse,  the  department  store  owner. 

"How  do  you  like  the  idea  of  getting  yourself 
killed?" 

M.  Fosse,  pale  and  nervous,  said  nothing  in  reply. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  3 

These  four  men  unconsciously  represented  the  four 
different  lines  of  thought  to  be  found  in  the  minds 
of  the  inhabitants  of  A . 

One,  youthful  and  enthusiastic,  was  shouting 
"Vive  la  France!"  He  was  thinking  of  a  pretty 
Alsatian  girl  of  picture  books  and  postal  cards,  con- 
vinced that  the  only  outcome  of  the  war  could  be 
the  return  to  France  of  the  lost  provinces. 

M.  Clopurte,  on  the  other  hand,  was  bald  headed 
and  thin ;  the  top  of  his  head  was  as  smooth  as  the 
candles  for  sale  in  his  store,  and  his  body  seemed 
as  dry  as  his  brooms.  He  was  thinking  of  the  war 
in  the  same  way  in  which  he  was  wont  to  consider 
a  new  customer.  M.  Clopurte's  sole  thoughts  were 
for  his  business  and  he  was  the  soul  of  his  grocery 
store. 

The  notary's  clerk,  on  the  contrary,  presented  a 
sorrowful  sight,  but  despite  all  his  terror  he  was 
doing  his  utmost  to  appear  cheerful  and  to  laugh 
at  those  who  were  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  war. 
His  main  subject  of  worry  just  then  concerned  his 
saleswoman,  Mile.  Romance,  who  had  just  consented 
to  meet  him  on  Sunday  afternoon  in  the  suburbs 
along  the  river.  "Good-bye;  to-morrow,  love,"  he 
was  saying  to  himself.  "War — battles — dead — and 
so  young!"  The  thought  made  him  sick. 

As  to  M1.  Fosse,  he  had  a  conception  of  duty 
against  which  nothing  could  be  said.  The  son  of 


4  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

a  schoolmaster,  he  had  spent  his  entire  life  compil- 
ing figures ;  the  dates  of  payments  due  were  the 
chief  events  of  his  life.  It  was  in  this  light  that 
he  considered  August  2,  date  of  mobilization. 

Half  of  the  inhabitants  of  A thought  of  the 

war  in  one  of  the  ways  particular  to  these  four  men ; 
the  other  half  gave  it  no  thought  whatever. 

To  those  who  lacked  good  cheer  the  setting  sun 
of  this  beautiful  summer  evening  was  doing  its  best 
to  give  more  courage.  Not  a  cloud  could  be  seen 
in  the  pale  blue  sky  as  the  day  was  coming  to  an 
end. 

The  following  day  the  streets  of  the  city  were 
filled  with  the  lads  from  the  surrounding  farms. 
They  came  by  train,  in  hay  wagons,  on  bicycles  or 
afoot  from  every  farm  within  a  radius  of  ten  miles. 
Big,  strong  and  healthy,  their  small  belongings 
wrapped  in  a  handkerchief,  they  came  along  in  threes 
or  fours,  dressed  in  checked  trousers,  soft  hats  and 
long  sleeved  waistcoats.  They  were  the  men  of 
the  fields,  tillers  of  the  soil,  of  an  entirely  different 
race  from  the  men  of  the  city.  They  had  left  their 
apple  trees,  their  cattle  and  their  wives  to  answer 
to  the  call  of  their  country,  and  still  uncertain  as 
to  what  was  to  come,  had  lost  none  of  their  good  hu- 
mor and  gay  spirits.  War  and  farm  talk  mingled 
in  their  remarks  as  they  greeted  each  other. 

"Here  comes  Pinceloup!     How  goes  it?" 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  5 

"Fine,  my  lad.  Have  you  come  to  get  yourself 
killed?" 

"Maybe;  who  knows?" 

"Looks  pretty  bad,  eh?" 

"No  more  hunting,  pop;  I  suppose  we'll  be  the 
game  now." 

"How  about  the  others,  you  fool?" 

"Right  you  are!     And  who  cares?" 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  the  girls,  Jean  ?" 

"Bah,  we'll  find  all  we  want  where  we're  going." 

And  thus  the  merry  throng  went  on  through  the 

narrow  streets  of  A .  In  appearance  they  had 

nothing  in  common  with  the  citizens  of  the  town, 
but  they  represented  strength,  brute  force,  and  their 

appearance  gave  to  A the  character  which  it 

lacked.  With  these  lads  in  the  street  the  county 
seat  assumed  an  unusual  and  more  warlike  appear- 
ance; far  from  the  frontier  it  was  nevertheless  get- 
ting ready  with  feverish  activity,  counting  and  pre- 
paring its  men  one  by  one. 

During  the  night  the  wind  changed  suddenly  and 
a  heavy  rainfall  drenched  the  streets.  Although  the 
sky  was  once  again  of  a  perfect  blue  when  the  town 
awoke  in  the  early  morning,  the  weather  changed 
again  just  as  suddenly  and  black  clouds  emptied 
their  torrents  upon  the  town.  From  time  to  time 
the  sun  would  reappear,  but  the  beautiful  weather 
of  the  day  before  had  disappeared.  Half  the  towns- 


6  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

people  were  opening  their  shutters  when  the  news 
went  around  that  a  train  bringing  soldiers  from 
Paris  had  just  arrived.  The  men  of  Normandy  have 
little  respect  for  the  Parisians.  "Parigots,"  as  they 
call  them,  cannot  in  their  opinion  compare  with  the 
tillers  of  the  soil. 

Loud  were  the  greetings,  nevertheless,  when  the 
train  pulled  up  at  the  local  station. 

The  first  man  to  jump  to  the  platform  as  the  sta- 
tion master  was  opening  the  doors  of  the  compart- 
ment tapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  exclaiming,  "Hello, 
there,  old  scout!  How's  the  village?"  Resenting 
this  undue  familiarity  the  white  capped  official  with- 
drew to  his  private  office.  He  had  seen  enough  of  the 
Parisians. 

They  came  700  or  800  strong  from  the  Mont- 
parnasse  quarter,  from  the  Avenue  du  Maine,  the 
Rue  de  la  Gaite  and  other  outlying  districts  of  the 
capital  on  their  mission  of  bringing  the  men  of  Nor- 
mandy to  the  front.  For  the  Parisians  are  in  a 
way  the  bugles  of  a  regiment;  they  start  the  march 
and  mark  the  step. 

They  seem  to  be  10,000  in  number,  talking,  laugh- 
ing, shouting  at  the  station  and  in  the  surrounding 

streets,  hailing  the  citizens  of  A as  though  they 

had  known  them  for  years,  worrying  not  at  all  over 
the  lack  of  response. 

Their  first  welcome  came  from  a  rotund  wine  shop 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  7 

keeper,  waving  a  napkin  through  the  door  of  his 
shop  on  the  Place  du  Chemin-de-Fer. 

"Here  they  are!  Some  men,  I  tell  you.  How's 
the  Fourteenth,  boys?" 

In  one  rush  the  men  from  Paris  ran  to  him,  while 
cheering  this,  their  only  friend. 

"Sure,  I'm  from  Paris !  I  lived  ten  years  in  the 
Rue  d'la  Gaite." 

"D'la  Gaite!    Then  you  must  know  Gaspard?" 

"Maybe  I  do.     Who  is  he?" 

"Gaspard!  Eh,  Gaspard!  Now  where  is  the 
fool?" 

While  waiting  for  Gaspard  fifteen  volunteered  to 
sing  his  praise. 

"He's  a  wonder !  He's  got  a  nose  like  a  hook  and 
a  face  that  will  make  a  fish  laugh.  He  kept  us 
laughing  all  night." 

"What's  his  business?"  said  the  wine  seller. 

"He's  had  about  a  dozen,  from  porter  at  the  Halles 
to  dealer  in  snails.  He  is  a  real  poilu !"  /^ 

"Well,  bring  him  out.     I  want  to  see  him." 

They  all  marched  by,  but  Gaspard  was  not  there. 
Laborers,  bourgeois,  wearing  caps  or  hats  or  any 
other  kind  of  headwear.  Rocton,  an  upholsterer, 
came  by  with  Moreau,  a  machinist,  both  eager  to 
point  out  to  the  wine  seller  a  short  and  stout  com- 
panion wearing  a  straw  hat  too  small  for  his  large 
red  face. 


8  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"You  see  that  fellow!  He's  a  journalist.  Lives 
in  the  Avenue  du  Maine.  A  real  swell  and,  believe 
me,  some  talker." 

"What's  his  name?" 

"Gaspard  knows;  he's  Gaspard's  friend." 

Gaspard  knew  everything,  but  Gaspard  was  not 
to  be  found.  Even  the  journalist  was  looking  for 
him.  He  went  back  to  the  railroad  station  and 
found  Gaspard  arguing  with  an  employee.  The  lat- 
ter had  resented  the  fact  that  Gaspard  had  entered 
the  station  singing  at  the  top  of  his  voice  an  old 
marching  song,  the  first  line  of  which  contained  a 
doubt  as  to  the  faithfulness  of  the  station  master's 
wife. 

"There  you  are!  As  soon  as  a  Frenchman  puts 
on  a  military  coat  he  loses  all  sense  of  decency." 

"All  sense  of  what?  Repeat  it,  and  I'll  eat  you 
up !"  said  Gaspard. 

And  for  the  last  five  minutes  insults  had  been  ex- 
changed at  quick  fire  rate. 

"Swanking  because  you've  got  cap  and  a  little 
braid,  eh?  I  wouldn't  wear  your  braid!  So  don't 
come  here  putting  on  any  airs  with  your  rotten  rail- 
road that  takes  twelve  hours  to  get  up  here  from 
Paris !  I'll  talk  about  the  station  master  so  long  as 
I  feel  like  it  and  if  you  object  to  my  talking  about 
his  wife  it's  probably  because  you're  mixed  up  in 
that  business  yourself.  So  just  lie  low,  you  poor 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  9 

fool!  We're  going  to  the  front  to  fight,  to  get 
killed,  while  you'll  be  here  punching  holes  in  tickets !" 

"Come  on,  Gaspard,  cool  off!"  said  the  journalist. 

"Well,  you've  got  here  just  in  time!  Take  me 
away  or  there'll  be  trouble." 

They  went  out  together. 

In  the  square  loud  cries  greeted  them. 

"Here  he  is !     Don't  hurry,  we'll  wait  all  night." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Gaspard.  "What  are 
you  waiting  for  me  for?  Go  right  ahead,  I'll  catch 
up  with  you.  What  do  you  want  to  know?  The 
road  to  Berlin?  Straight  ahead,  and  don't  turn 
around." 

His  green  eyes  were  shining  like  those  of  a  wolf. 

Suddenly  he  burst  out  laughing.  After  a  search 
in  his  pockets  he  called  out  to  Burette,  the  journalist: 

"Look  here!  I  swiped  his  whistle!  Here's  where 
my  war  booty  begins!  Don't  worry,  sport,  we're 
going  to  have  some  time." 

Typical  of  all  that  was  to  come,  this  was  the  spirit 
of  Paris  asserting  itself  in  the  provinces — the  frank 
gayety  and  ever  undismayed  cheerfulness ;  laughing 
at  the  battle,  scoffing  at  the  enemy,  trying  out  the 
joke  of  the  end  of  the  war  before  it  even  had  begun. 

Gaspard  was  of  high  stature,  as  behooves  a  man 
who  is  ever  ready  not  only  to  joke  at  the  expense 
of  those  smaller  than  he  but  also  to  meet  on  their 
own  ground  those  of  his  own  size.  Although  his 


10  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

hands  were  those  of  a  man  who  docs  not  work  with 
his  brain  he  had  the  brain  of  one  who  knew  well  how 
to  use  his  hands.  With  heavy  set  features,  a  search- 
ing eye,  a  rebellious  head  of  hair  and  an  impertinent 
little  mustache,  the  most  remarkable  thing  about 
him  was  his  nose,  which  was  obnoxiously  long  and 
of  the  hooked  variety.  It  seemed  to  lean  to  the  left, 
as  though  it  were  trying  to  discover  in  Gaspard's 
head  new  ideas  and  inspirations  for  his  never  end- 
ing series  of  jokes. 

The  notary's  clerk,  who  was  standing  near  the 
station,  looked  amazed  as  Gaspard  went  by.  While 
admitting  the  Parisian's  determined  attitude  and  his 
jovial  spirit,  he  could  not  help  feeling  that  however 
much  of  a  Parisian  this  man  might  be  he  was  obvious- 
ly a  workman  and  therefore  not  of  the  clerk's  class. 

Gaspard  must  have  read  the  clerk's  thoughts,  for 
he  exclaimed  as  he  passed  by:  "Eh,  eh  you  of  the 
black  coat,  aren't  you  getting  a  ticket  for  Berlin?" 

The  clerk  could  not  repress  somewhat  of  a  shiver 
as  he  replied  "Sure  I  am !" 

But  the  passing  of  the  Parisian  had  had  its  effect ; 
the  clerk  suddenly  felt  as  though  he  would  like  to 
run  after  Gaspard  and  follow  him  to  the  very  front 
line  of  the  fighting.  Gaspard  noticed  the  change, 

but  was  in  no  way  surprised.     He  went  on  to  A 

as  though  he  knew  every  street  and  every  inhabitant. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  he  had  already  visited  the  town 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  11 

on  three  previous  occasions,  and  as  he  went  along 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  he  seemed  to  say:  "Come 
on,  provincials ;  we've  come  to  fight  with  you  and 
there's  no  time  to  be  lost." 

At  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Saint  Eloi  he  heard  some 
one  exclaim:  "Well,  well,  here's  my  live  wire!" 

Gaspard  turned  quickly. 

"The  Captain!  .  .  .  Good  morning,  Captain! 
.  .  .  How  are  you,  Captain?" 

"And  how  about  yourself?" 

"I'm  all  right.  .  .  .  Well,  we're  going  to  it! 
We'll  give  them  something  to  think  of!" 

"So  we  will,  with  Gaspard's  aid !" 

"No  doubt,  in  that  case!  Gaspard  has  enlisted! 
Wages  still  one  sou  per  day!  Fine!  Where'll  I  in- 
vest it  all?" 

The  gleam  in  his  eyes  showed  his  great  delight  at 
meeting  his  Captain,  to  whom  he  had  always  been 
tenderly  devoted  during  his  first  period  of  military 
service.  Remembering  all  the  officer's  kind  attention 
to  him  he  at  once  offered  his  services. 

"If  there  is  anything  I  can  do,  Captain " 

The  Captain  replied:  "You  can  take  care  of  the 
equipment  of  my  company." 

"Fine!     Where  do  I  go?" 

"Come  right  along  with  me." 

Gaspard  was  delighted.     Here  he  was,  marching 

along  with  his  Captain.    Both  were  from  Paris.    Gas- 
2 


12  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

pard  felt  extremely  proud.  When  they  passed 
through  the  gates  of  the  barracks  the  sentinel  on 
guard  saluted  the  officer  and  Gaspard  replied  with 
a  very  superior  smile. 

In  the  yard  of  the  barracks  the  Captain  pointed 
out  a  group  of  men. 

"Here  are  our  soldiers,"  he  said. 

The  group  included  men  from  Paris,  from  provin- 
cial towns  and  from  the  country.  Two  days  later, 
thanks  to  Gaspard,  they  had  all  become  real  sol- 
diers. 

To  get  the  equipment  together  he  had  requisi- 
tions ;  pay  wagons  and  the  military  effects  were 
gathered  quickly.  Gaspard  employed  none  but  Pa- 
risians as  his  assistants  and  no  time  was  lost.  The 
work  was  carried  out  with  an  uninterrupted  fire  of. 
amusing  remarks  by  Gaspard  and  his  aids,  foremost 
among  whom  was  Burette,  the  journalist.  His  ad- 
miration for  Gaspard  was  boundless  and  his  enthu- 
siasm as  great  as  that  of  his  friends. 

"So  they  want  war,  the  alboches  ?  Well,  we'll  give 
them  war !  And  we'll  go  to  it  in  the  right  way,  well 
equipped  and  well  armed!  Come  on,  boys,  fill  up 
the  wagons !  We'll  get  the  swine !" 

"I'm  used  to  this,"  said  Moreau,  who  had  been  a 
stagehand  at  the  Chatelet  Theatre  in  Paris.  "Over- 
ture, beginners,  down  stage!" 

"I'm  waiting  for  the  ballet,"  said  Gaspard,  "and 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  13 

believe  me  there'll  be  some  dancing  with  the  German 
girls." 

"How  about  me?"  said  Burette. 

"You'll  come  in  for  the  last  curtain  call !" 

Greatly  amused  by  these  remarks  the  men  worked 
on  feverishly,  piling  up  into  the  wagons  the  various 
articles  of  equipment  which  they  were  collecting. 

A  large  bundle  of  nightcaps  arrested  Moreau's 
attention. 

"What  are  these  good  for  in  summer?" 

"Don't  interfere,"  exclaimed  Gaspard.  "Don't 
you  know  that  as  a  coffee  filter  nothing  can  beat  a 
nightcap  ?" 

The  work  was  over  and  the  entire  storehouse  had 
been  emptied.  As  a  parting  joke  Gaspard  took  a 
large  piece  of  cardboard  upon  which  the  inscribed  in 
heavy  black  letters  the  words  "To  Let,  Furnished," 
and  suspended  it  on  the  front  door  of  the  building. 
When  everything  had  been  carried  to  the  company 
the  work  had  been  accomplished  so  quickly  and  so 
well  that  even  the  Captain  could  not  conceal  his  sur- 
prise. 

"Don't  worry,  Captain,"  said  Gaspard.  "Send 
me  the  men  one  by  one  and  I'll  fix  them  up  in  less 
than  no  time." 

Gaspard  displayed  the  same  activity  in  supplying 
the  men  with  the  various  articles  of  clothing  to  which 
they  were  entitled.  No  time  was  lost.  "Try  this 


14  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

shirt  on  quick  and  get  a  move  on,"  he  would  say, 
and  when  the  men  would  risk  a  mild  protest  to  the 
effect  that  the  article  submitted  was  rather  short, 
Gaspard  would  shout:  "What  do  you  mean,  short! 
You'll  be  hot  enough  when  the  fighting  starts  and 
you'll  bless  me  for  it!" 

Another  found  the  shirt  too  long  and  this  time 
Gaspard  exclaimed:  "Yes  and  I  suppose  that  when 
winter  comes  you'll  want  another  piece  sewed  onto 
it!" 

Burette  was  the  only  one  to  receive  better  treat- 
ment at  his  hands.  While  the  newspaper  man  Avas 
saying  "This  is  all  right,  it's  a  fine  fit,"  Gaspard 
exlaimed : 

"Shut  up!  What  do  you  know  about  it?  You're 
a  journalist!  I'm  going  to  fit  you  up  according  to 
my  own  idea,  because  you're  a  pal  and  not  proud 
either,  although  you  are  a  college  man.  ...  I  know 
you  and  I  know  how  to  treat  you." 

"But,  what's  the  use?" 

"Be  quiet  and  do  as  I  say.  .  .  .  Take  it  off  quick. 
I'll  find  a  better  one  for  you." 

"Well,  you're  not  going  to  send  it  all  back?" 

"I'll  do  just  as  I  feel  like  doing.  I  tell  you  that 
you're  my  pal  and  when  I  meet  one  I  know  it.  It's 
not  because,  we're  going  to  war  that  I'm  going  to 
forget  either.  .  .  .  Take  these  trousers;  they'll  just 
fit  you.  .  .  .  My  pals  are  sacred  to  me,  just  as  much 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  16 

as  my  old  woman  and  my  kids.  .  .  .  Here,  try  this 
coat  on.  ...  I  may  be  joking  here,  but,  believe 
me,  when  it  comes  to  the  people  I  care  for.  .  .  . 
There  was  some  sadness  in  the  house  two  days  ago, 
I  tell  you.  .  .  .  When  I  took  the  kid  into  my  arms 
and  kissed  him  as  he  was  saying,  'You're  not  going 
away,  papa,  are  you?'  .  .  .  Ah,  believe  me.  .  .  . 
Here,  this  tunic  ought  to  fit  you,  try  it  on.  ...  I 
said  to  myself,  'I  wish  I  was  still  a  Socialist.'  "... 

He  sat  down  on  the  floor  on  a  heap  of  garments, 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  A  moment  of  silence  fol- 
lowed. Then  Burette  said  slowly :  "And  even  if  you 
were  a  Socialist,  you  wouldn't  have  run  away." 

Gaspard  laughed: 

"Well,  I  don't  think!  Where  to?  Here  are  the 
swine  going  through  Belgium!  .  .  .  Well,  that 
coat's  all  right!  What's  your  kick?  .  .  .  Here's  a 
cap.  .  .  .  And  how  about  your  wife,  was  she  sorry 
to  see  you  go?" 

"You  bet  .  .  ." 

"Is  your  wife  good  looking?" 

"None  better." 

"Lucky  dog!  Mine's  all  right;  not  that  she's 
pretty,  but  she's  mighty  neat,  and,  believe  me,  she 
takes  good  care  of  the  kid." 

"Fine!  .  .  .  And  .  .  .  Are  you  married?" 

"Married.  .  .  .  Well,  not  at  the  church  .  .  .  But 
I'm  married  according  to  my  idea." 


16  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"Sure,  and  in  any  case  it's  pretty  hard  to  break 
away." 

"You  bet,  son." 

"And  especially  at  this  time  of  the  year  when  the 
girls  are  wearing  those  fine  transparent  summer 
dresses." 

"Now,  that'll  do  .   .   ." 

"Well,  it's  pretty  fine  to  get  a  nice  cool  refresh- 
ing drink  at  home  in  this  weather." 

"Ah,  don't  let's  talk  about  it  ...  Here,  it's  5 
o'clock.  Let's  get  away  and  get  something  to  eat. 
I'll  pay  the  bill." 

They  went  out  and  passed  through  the  Grand' 
Rue,  which  goes  up  toward  the  Prefecture,  where 
in  the  distance  they  could  see  a  number  of  soldiers. 
Clopurte,  the  grocer,  was  standing  at  his  front  door 
in  uniform,  and  other  soldiers  were  to  be  seen  on 
all  sides.  In  the  soft  light  of  the  setting  sun  the 
bright  colors  of  the  new  uniforms  stood  out  in  strik- 
ing manner  and  the  appearance  of  the  whole  town 
was  similar  to  that  which  it  generally  assumed  on 
the  14th  of  July,  the  national  holiday,  each  year. 

In  front  of  the  Prefecture  a  large  crowd  was 
pushing  its  way  toward  the  entrance  gates  where  a 
despatch  had  just  been  posted.  A  priest  standing 
in  the  front  row  offered  to  read  the  message  to  those 
who  could  not  see  it.  Loud  applause  greeted  the 
offer,  followed  by  a  profound  silence.  The  priest 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  17 

began  his  reading  in  a  stentorian  voice  while  the 
few  white  hairs  remaining  on  his  head  waved  in  the 
evening  breeze.  Germany  had  declared  war  upon 
Belgium,  whereupon  England  declared  war  on  Ger- 
many! And  the  Czar  had  kissed  the  French  Am- 
bassador ! 

After  the  reading  came  a  new  outburst  of  ap- 
plause. The  men  looked  at  each  other.  All  agreed: 
"They  are  mad!  Everybody  fighting!  What  do 
they  expect  to  do !" 

Gaspard  said:  "Come  on  and  eat.  I  tell  you, 
they're  crazy!" 

Burette  was  beaming  with  joy. 

"The  whole  thing  will  last  a  month!  Why,  we'll 
get  them  right  away.  On  all  sides!  In  three  weeks 
they  will  be  begging  for  mercy!" 

"It's  sure  going  to  be  worth  while,"  said  Gas- 
pard. 

Laughingly  they  went  on  to  the  Place  du  Chemin- 
de-Fer,  where  Burette,  who  was  an  expert  on  good 
eating,  knew  of  a  little  restaurant  kept  by  a  woman 
who  for  twenty  years  had  been  cook  in  a  wealthy 
family. 

They  met  there  a  soldier  of  their  own  company 
who  had  just  received  an  outfit  from  Gaspard,  and 
a  big  fat  butcher  from  Vaugirard,  who  had  been  un- 
able to  find  a  coat  to  fit  him.  The  butcher  stood 
up  and  welcomed  the  newcomer. 


18  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

Gaspard  questioned  the  other  soldier. 

"What's  your  name?" 

"Hommage." 

"Where  the  dickens  did  you  get  that  name? 
What's  your  business?" 

"Real  estate  agent." 

"Nothing  small  about  you.  And  what  are  you 
looking  so  sad  for?  Any  one  dead  in  your  house?" 

"I'm  not  feeling  very  well." 

"Where?" 

"I  am  suffering  from  endocarditis." 

"Endo  what?" 

"I  will  never  be  able  to  go  to  the  front." 

"Well,  then,  stay  home  and  we'll  send  you  a  postal 
card." 

Turning  toward  the  butcher,  Gaspard  consulted 
him  as  to  the  menu.  The  butcher  was  a  remarkable 
type.  His  head  was  enormous  and  of  a  bestial  ap- 
pearance. His  nose  was  large  and  fat  and  resembled 
that  of  a  steer;  his  eyes,  exceptionally  small,  re- 
called the  pig;  his  heavy,  fleshy  cheeks  seemed  to 
have  nothing  human  about  them  and  the  complete 
absence  of  a  forehead  made  his  appearance  still  more 
curious.  His  mouth  lost  itself  in  his  neck,  his  chin 
also  being  absent.  There  was  no  doubt  about  his 
being  a  man,  but  at  first  glance  he  resembled  a  mon- 
ster. Who  weuld  ever  have  believed  that  he  made  a 
profession  of  taking  life?  He  was  talkative,  jovial 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  19 

and  merry.  Gaspard  had  not  been  seated  for  two 
minutes  before  he  exclaimed:  "This  man's  a  won- 
der!" 

The  man  was  apparently  used  to  being  flattered. 
His  first  action  was  to  try  to  tickle  the  waitress. 

"What's  your  name  ?  Prudence  ?  Good  name ! 
That's  the  one  they  first  gave  me.  For  more  than 
a  year  they  thought  I  was  a  girl.  .  .  .  Every  one 
said  I  was  so  good  looking  and  sweet." 

The  waitress  laughed  herself  red  in  the  face,  while 
Burette  kept  on  smiling.  Waitress  or  whatever  she 
might  be,  Burette  was  always  happy  when  he  was 
near  a  woman.  The  dinner  was  another  reason  for 
rejoicing,  and  his  last  words  before  attacking  the 
soup  was,  "Come  on,  let's  eat  and  not  a  word  about 
the  war." 

"The  war?"  said  the  butcher,  his  mouth  full  of 
food.  "Why,  we  won't  even  see  the  alboches." 

Burette  approved.  But  Gaspard  thought  this  was 
going  a  bit  too  far. 

"What  reasons  have  you  for  saying  that?" 

The  butcher  winked  his  eye. 

"Reasons?     Do  you  know  how  to  read?" 

"Slightly,  my  son." 

"Well,  then  read,  father!  Read  what  the  papers 
say.  In  Berlin  they  are  already  scared  to  death. 
In  Vienna  the  same.  And  as  to  Wilhelm,  he's 
changed  the  twist  of  his  mustache  already." 


20  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

The  butcher  swallowed  a  large  mouthful  of  food 
and  continued: 

"And  believe  me,  I'll  show  them  something  my- 
self." 

He  removed  his  cap,  displaying  a  head  so  closely 
clipped  that  the  only  hair  discernible  was  a  small 
curly  lock  which  jumped  up  and  down  as  a  sort  of 
accompaniment  to  his  speech.  The  effect  was  so 
amusing  that  Gaspard  burst  out  laughing. 

"This  fellow's  a  wonder.     I  say,  pal." 

"What?" 

"You're  with  us,  eh!  We're  all  friends  here.  Bu- 
rette, who  is  a  journalist,  is  one  of  the  best  of 
fellows." 

"Can't  be  done,"  replied  the  butcher  gravely. 
"I'm  with  the  meat." 

Gaspard  displayed  real  sorrow  at  the  news.  "No 
luck,"  he  said,  and  he  never  laughed  again  during 
the  entire  dinner. 

When  they  returned  to  the  barracks  and  went  to 
bed  Gaspard  was  in  bad  humor,  and  when  a  sergeant 
came  along  to  take  the  names  of  the  men's  nearest 
relatives  in  order  to  notify  them  in  case  of  death, 
he  burst  forth  in  anger. 

"What  do  you  mean!  .  .  .  Pretty  rotten,  I  say. 
.  .  .  I'm  willing  to  get  myself  killed,  but  I'll  be 
hanged  if  I  want  any  one  to  talk  to  me  about  it. 
Sorry  I  told  them  the  truth." 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  21 

Fortunately,  however,  August  nights  are  short 
and  however  depressed  one  may  be  before  retiring, 
the  blues  are  generally  dissipated  by  the  morning 
sun,  particularly  in  this  part  of  France  where  the 
bright,  laughing  rays  penetrate  everywhere,  through 
windows,  doors  and  every  opening  available.  No 
better  awakening  could  be  found  than  that  brought 
about  by  one  of  the  bright  beams  of  the  beautiful 
sun  of  sunny  Normandy. 

Half  organized,  half  equipped  and  also  half 
asleep,  the  regiment  came  out  at  the  call  of  the 
drum  and  quickly  recovered  in  the  bright  sunshine 
its  good  spirits  of  the  day  before.  The  men  greeted 
each  other  with  loud  exclamations  and  proceeded  at 
once  to  look  up  their  friends.  The  men  of  Normandy 
and  the  Parisians  formed  separate  groups  while  the 
sergeants  were  carefully  noting  names  and  other 
means  of  identification. 

Gaspard,  who  had  resumed  his  work  of  equipping 
the  men,  called  out  to  the  sergeant: 

"I'm  with  Burette.     He's  my  pal." 

"You  bet,  and  we'll  die  together,  won't  we?"  Bu- 
rette replied. 

When  the  companies  had  been  organized  the  men 
discussed  freely  the  non-commissioned  officers  who 
had  been  assigned  to  them. 

"Who's  the  sergeant  we've  got?"  said  one. 

"Oh,  he's  all  right." 


22  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"You  bet  he  is.  I've  known  him  for  a  long  time. 
Pity  the  men  who  are  under  that  other  fellow  over 
there." 

On  the  other  side  the  same  impressions  were  ex- 
changed and  on  the  whole  all  were  satisfied. 

Concerning  the  Captains  there  was  but  one  view. 
Every  company  was  convinced  that  it  had  the  best 
of  them  all,  but  according  to  Gaspard  the  Twenty- 
fourth  had  fared  better  than  any  other.  When  he 
uttered  the  name  of  his  Captain,  Puche,  he  spoke 
with  as  much  respect  as  if  he  were  mentioning  the 
name  of  the  Almighty. 

"The  best  in  the  world,  pal.  And  we'll  see  if  we 
get  the  best  kind  of  grub  too.  Believe  me,  we'll  do 
some  work  with  him." 

Most  of  the  work,  however,  was  done  by  Gaspard 
himself.  He  was  kept  busy  giving  out  the  various 
articles  of  the  soldiers'  equipment,  such  as  field  dress- 
ings, neckties,  shoulder  straps,  badges,  shoelaces, 
neck  protectors,  leather  belts  and  many  other  ar- 
ticles. In  the  centre  of  the  yard  he  piled  bags  of 
coffee,  sugar,  biscuits,  cans  of  meat  and  medical 
supplies.  The  men  were  lined  up  to  receive  their 
share  and  Gaspard  had  an  amusing  remark  for  each 
one. 

"Here  you,  hold  out  your  hand.  Another  one 
who  doesn't  seem  to  know  that  the  Germans  are  on 
their  way." 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  23 

"On  their  way  to  where?" 

"On  their  way  to  your  wife.     So  get  a  move  on." 

Gaspard's  popularity  was  growing  every  minute. 
In  twenty-four  hours  he  had  become  the  counsellor 
and  the  confidant  of  an  entire  company,  for  in  addi- 
tion to  his  practical  usefulness  the  moral  effect  of 
his  presence  was  excellent.  To  those  who  were  dis- 
satisfied he  would  say: 

"Come  on,  kid,  don't  bother  us  with  your  baby 
talk.  You're  going  with  us  to  the  country  and  Gas- 
pard  will  see  that  you  have  a  good  time." 

He  had  no  use  for  the  loud  talker  and  would 
promptly  silence  those  who  pretended  to  know  every- 
thing about  the  war  and  just  what  was  going  to 
happen. 

"We'll  let  you  talk  if  you  know  how  after  you've 
shown  us  what  you're  worth.  We're  not  paying 
you  a  sou  per  day  for  nothing.  Before  bragging 
go  out  and  kill  a  few  Prussians.  We'll  pay  one  sou 
per  hundred." 

When  a  man  complained  that  his  cap  was  too 
small  Gaspard  took  him  at  once  to  the  barber. 

"By  order  of  the  Captain,  this  man  is  to  have  his 
hair  clipped  until  his  cap  fits  him." 

When  the  time  came  to  start  and  the  men  were 
lined  up  before  their  officers  the  Major's  horse  per- 
sisted in  standing  on  his  hind  legs.  Gaspard  went 
up  to  the  horse  and  spoke  in  its  ear. 


24  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"Come  on,  Pegasus.  Be  quiet."  And  the  horse 
immediately  stood  still. 

A  youthful  sub-lieutenant  was  wrestling  with  the 
regimental  flag,  which  he  was  unable  to  extricate 
from  the  leather  cover  in  which  it  was  enclosed. 
Again  Gaspard  came  to  his  assistance,  and  after  a 
long  effort  succeeded  in  disentangling  the  tricolor. 

When  the  march  was  started  every  man  in  the 
company  would  have  been  proud  to  walk  beside  Gas- 
pard, including  even  the  lads  from  Normandy,  who 
were  still  keeping  aloof  from  the  Parisians.  But 
Gaspard  picked  his  own  companions. 

"The  Rue  d'la  Gaite  comes  first !" 

He  said  it  with  pride,  for  as  he  mentioned  the 
name  he  pictured  in  his  mind  the  district  of  which 
he  was  so  fond,  his  own  Rue  de  la  Gaite,  back  of  the 
Montparnasse  Station,  with  its  bars,  music  halls  and 
food  shops.  In  that  street  the  entire  district  gets 
both  its  food  and  its  fun.  During  the  daytime  the 
fried  potato  sellers  hold  sway  there,  as  well  as  in 
the  Rue  Montorgueil,  and  the  crowd  is  greater  than 
in  the  Rue  de  Belleville.  At  night  the  streets  sparkle 
with  thousands  of  lights  and  the  screeching  tunes  of 
gramophones  are  wafted  out  to  the  evening  breeze 
from  almost  every  house. 

Gaspard,  the  snail  dealer  of  the  Rue  de  la  Gaite, 
was  unable  to  conceal  his  emotion  at  the  thought  of 
his  home  and  the  street  he  knew  so  well. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  25 

"Come  on,  men  of  my  street!"  he  proudly 
called. 

Moreau,  the  machinist,  was  the  first  to  step  out, 
with  the  air  of  a  staff  officer  standing  beside  his 
chief. 

Burette  stood  out  to  the  left.  Gaspard  looked 
him  over. 

"Well,  you  don't  belong  to  the  street,  but  you're 
a  pal,  so  you're  all  right.  And  now,  on  to  Berlin. 
Give  the  address  to  the  Colonel !" 

The  men  formed  fours  and  the  officers  whistled  a 
merry  tune  as  the  regiment  moved  on. 

Two  thousand  men  in  this  country  town,  which 
only  a  few  days  ago  had  been  half  asleep — two 
thousand  men  had  been  gathered  suddenly  and  were 
marching  off,  all  with  the  same  regiment  number  on 
their  coat  collars  and  caps,  all  with  the  same  rifles 
on  their  shoulders,  the  same  question  plainly  written 
on  their  faces : 

"Well,  we're  on  our  way.  But  where  to?"  And 
behind  these  few  words  could  be  discovered  the  en- 
thusiasm of  some  and  the  fears  of  the  others. 

One  of  the  most  striking  things  about  a  regiment 
on  its  first  march  is  the  uniform,  which  naturally  is 
the  first  thing  to  be  noticed.  But  under  the  same 
caps  similar  thoughts  may  also  be  found,  and  it 
seems  to  each  man  that  destiny  is  leading  the  march 
immediately  after  the  first  command  has  been  given. 


26  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

Love,  interests,  fears,  all  disappear  as  the  men 
march  along. 

Women  and  children  delight  in  watching  the  sol- 
diers march  by,  but  the  men  are  just  as  proud  of 
doing  the  marching.  Individuality  disappears ;  the 
men  no  longer  think  of  "I,"  but  speak  only  of  "we," 
and  their  courage  and  determination  increase  as  they 
advance.  Those  who  have  not  served  with  the  colors, 
who  have  not  marched  through  some  town  rifle  in 
hand,  have  missed  one  of  the  greatest  sensations 
which  come  to  mankind,  although  each  man  knows 
well  that  he  is  only  a  very  small  wheel  in  the  social 
machine  depending  in  every  respect  upon  thousands 
of  other  factors,  but  it  is  a  servitude  which  fills  a 
man  with  pride,  for  he  is  bound  to  realize  that  he 
has  become  a  national  asset.  An  armed  man  march- 
ing along  realizes  his  strength  and  his  mission ;  he 
has  become  a  symbol;  he  is  wearing  the  colors  of 
his  country  and  he  knows  well  that  a  regiment  on 
its  way  to  the  front  is  a  wonderful  thing. 

When  the  men  of  A started  out,  a  soldier 

without  belt  or  bayonet  went  up  to  Burette  and 
Gaspard : 

"Good-by,  gentlemen — and  good  luck." 

It  was  M.  Hommage,  the  real  estate  agent,  who 
was  suffering  from  endocarditis,  and  who  would  ob- 
tain from  the  sergeant  permission  to  remain  at 
home.  Burette,  sympathetic,  replied  to  the  man, 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  27 

but  was  unable  to  refrain  from  saying  to  Gas- 
pard: 

"Do  you  remember  during  the  last  seventeen  days 
of  our  military  service  when  you  asserted  that  if 
war  should  come  to  be  declared  the  land  owners  and 
landlords  could  do  the  fighting,  as  they  had  their 
money  to  protect,  but  that  you,  having  nothing  to 
defend,  would  refuse  to  march?  Well,  Gaspard! 
You're  the  one  to  march  just  now,  and  this  landlord 
is  staying  home !" 

"Wait  a  minute,"  said  Gaspard.  "My  argument 
was  all  wrong.  Having  nothing,  I  have  nothing  to 
lose,  no  hesitation,  and  out  I  go.  But  he  is  afraid 
he  might  lose  his  money,  so  it's  better  to  leave  him 
here  to  protect  it." 

In  just  about  one  minute  his  good  sensible  mind 
had  adapted  to  war  a  theory  of  peace. 

As  they  went  through  the  gate  of  the  barracks 
to  the  rolling  of  the  drums  and  the  merry  notes  of 
the  bugle  the  crowd  poured  out  into  the  streets  to 
see  them  go  by. 

It  was  a  beautiful  summer  afternoon  and  the  sun's 
shining  rays  brightened  the  hearts  of  every  one  and 
dispelled  the  fears  of  the  few. 

Women  came  from  all  the  shops,  distributing 
flowers  to  the  soldiers.  Gaspard  received  his  share 
and  exclaimed  to  the  fair  ones: 

"When  we  get  back  there'll  be  some  kissing!" 
3 


28  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

A  rumor  was  current  that  100,000  Germans  had 
fallen  before  Liege — 100,000 !  It  seemed  there  would 
be  none  left.  The  men  were  marching  faster,  as 
though  eager  to  catch  up  with  the  enemy. 

"Where's  the  train  for  Berlin?"  and  a  loud  cry 
arose  when  the  train  was  found. 

The  square  in  front  of  the  railroad  station  was 
thronged.  The  inhabitants  had  hastened  to  see  the 
soldiers  march  by,  and  now  they  were  pushing  each 
other  to  bid  the  men  farewell.  It  was  Sunday  and 
the  women  wore  light  shirtwaists  and  their  best  hats 
and  shoes.  Among  them  could  be  seen  the  wife  of 
M.  Fosse,  Mile.  Romance,  Mine.  Clopurte  and  the 
Colonel's  wife. 

"Too  bad  my  own  little  woman  is  not  there,"  said 
Burette. 

"Make  up  for  it  by  looking  at  the  others,"  Gas- 
pard  replied.  And  to  give  the  good  example  he  ex- 
changed many  a  wink  and  passing  salute  with  all  the 
good  looking  women. 

The  Colonel,  nervous  and  grave,  was  walking  up 
and  down  the  platform  as  though  he  were  eager  to 
resume  the  march,  and  his  wife,  an  imposing  looking 
woman,  was  presenting  a  bouquet  of  roses  to  a  gal- 
lant captain  at  whom  she  was  staring  through  a 
lorgnette. 

The  men  finally  entrained.  They  had  been  dis- 
tributed in  groups,  and  each  one  took  a  seat  in  the 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  29 

compartment  to  which  he  had  been  assigned.  Within 
five  minutes  the  entire  regiment  disappeared  in  the 
little  black  and  brown  boxes  which  were  to  carry  to 
the  frontier  these  2,000  men.  Only  the  heads  could 
now  be  seen,  and  the  doors  and  windows  were  filled 
by  the  officers,  eager  to  be  the  last  to  see  and  be 
seen. 

Gaspard,  Burette  and  Moreau,  however,  were  all 
three  in  evidence.  In  their  car  the  officers  stood  in 
the  background. 

At  3  o'clock  sharp  the  train  left  the  station. 
Loud  applause  and  exclamations  were  heard  on  all 
sides,  both  from  the  soldiers  off  for  the  front  and 
from  those  who  had  come  to  speed  them  on  their 
way. 

"Hurrah!  On  to  Berlin,  down  with  the  Kaiser!" 
"Good-by,  friends."  "Good-by,  my  little  blond 
sweetheart!"  "On  to  Berlin!"  "Berlin!"  "Good 
luck!"  "Buck  up!"  "Kill  as  many  as  you  can  and 
come  back  quick!" 

The  Colonel's  wife,  still  staring  through  her 
lorgnette,  threw  more  flowers  toward  the  train  and  a 
lieutenant  caught  the  last  bouquet  as  he  was  jump- 
ing into  his  compartment. 

The  locomotive  whistle  was  heard  once  again  in 
a  last  and  ardent  farewell  to  Normandy.  The  sta- 
tion master  stood  on  the  platform  waving  his  flag. 
Suddenly  a  merry  voice  was  heard,  singing  loudly 


30  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

a  well  known  tune,  the  same  song  concerning  the 
station  master's  wife  at  which  an  employee  two  days 
ago  had  taken  offence.  It  was  Gaspard  on  his  way 
to  the  front. 


n 

BEFORE  the  war  there  was  nothing  quite  so 
dull  and  lugubrious  as  a  long  string  of  cat- 
tle cars  moving  along  a  railway  in  France, 
but  the  war  made  of  these  ugly  cars  a  sight  which 
filled  with  enthusiasm  every  citizen  of  the  republic. 
Women  at  level  crossings  acclaimed  them.  The  in- 
scription, written  in  chalk  by  the  soldiers,  "Excur- 
sion train  for  Berlin,"  amused  every  one  and  the 
soldiers  never  missed  an  opportunity  to  hail  with 
a  cheering  salute  the  women  of  France  who  came  to 
see  them  go  by.  "Good  morning,  Marie!"  "How 
goes  it,  Margot?"  the  soldiers  would  cry,  and  in 
reply  the  women  would  wave  frantically  handker- 
chiefs or  scarfs  and  throw  flowers  into  the  passing 
car.  In  this  way  the  regiments  going  to  the  frontier 
passed  through  the  French  provinces,  the  inhabitants 
of  which  seemed  to  be  celebrating  some  great  na- 
tional holiday. 

Gaspard,  Burette  and  Moreau  soon  realized  that 
they  had  never  had  so  good  a  time.  In  order  to  get 
a  breath  of  air,  to  see  everything  along  the  road 

31 


32  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

and  to  jump  out  of  the  train  at  even  the  shortest 
stop  they  had  taken  possession  of  the  door,  the  only 
exit  from  their  cattle  car,  and  nothing  or  no  one 
could  clear  them  out.  If  another  soldier  attempted 
to  pass  Gaspard  would  say: 

"Get  away  and  don't  bother  us !  If  you're  not 
satisfied  go  to  the  Captain  and  complain  of  Gaspard. 
You'll  see  what  will  happen  to  you.  Because  Gas- 
pard worked  hard  while  you  were  watching  the  clouds 
roll  by.  So  believe  me  I  have  the  right  to  travel 
as  I  please.  Gaspard  and  you  are  two  different  men, 
and  don't  you  forget  it!" 

"And  how  about  the  two  others?"  the  complain- 
ant would  say. 

"The  others  are  my  pals,  see !  And  now  get  away. 
Some  nerve,  this  fellow!  He's  from  Normandy — a 
farmer,  a  peasant — and  trying  to  take  the  place  of 
a  journalist  and  a  machinist!  Some  nerve!" 

"But  listen  here,"  said  Burette.  "I  might  move 
for  a  few  minutes." 

"You're  going  to  stay  right  where  you  are,"  said 
Gaspard,  "or  you're  no  longer  my  pal." 

"Sure,"  added  Moreau,  "a  pal  is  a  pal." 

Gaspard   had    secured    a   fine   place    of   vantage, 
seated  on  the  floor  of  the  car  with  his  legs  dangling 
outside,  with  only  a  short  slide  to  make  to  jump  out 
whenever  the  train  stopped.     Several  of  his  comrades 
warned  him. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  33 

"They  haven't  given  the  signal !  The  Colonel  will 
get  you!" 

"Well,  I'll  have  to  get  a  drink  in  order  to  give  a 
good  account  of  myself." 

With  his  coat  off  and  his  shirt  open  to  leave  his 
neck  free  he  would  run  across  the  tracks  carrying 
a  half  dozen  empty  water  bottles  which  he  endeav- 
ored to  fill  before  the  train  resumed  its  course.  Pie 
would  call  at  every  house  or  hut  along  the  track, 
but  could  hardly  wait  until  the  doors  were  open,  and 
most  of  his  trips  were  failures. 

"I'll  go  no  further  without  water,"  he  would  ex- 
claim, but  the  train  would  move  on  and  Gaspard 
would  jump  aboard  at  the  very  last  minute. 

At  every  stop  his  comrades  encouraged  him  to  re- 
new the  attempt,  although  Burette  was  greatly  wor- 
ried at  the  thought  that  his  pal  might  be  left  behind. 
But  each  time  Gaspard  would  reappear  at  the  very 
last  minute  and  finally  he  returned  half  drenched. 

"I  found  a  fountain  and  stood  right  under  it  and 
here's  a  drink  for  all  of  you !" 

Burette  enjoyed  the  refreshing  draught,  but  re- 
marked : 

"A  glass  of  beer  would  taste  better." 

"Anything  else  you'd  like?"  asked  Gaspard. 

Two  minutes  later  the  train  pulled  into  a  large 
station,  and  Gaspard,  always  on  the  lookout,  dis- 
covered a  small  keg  of  beer  on  the  platform.  Mira- 


34  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

cles  like  this  have  been  known  to  happen.  There 
was  neither  name  nor  address  on  the  keg,  so  Gaspard 
took  it  for  granted  that  it  had  no  owner.  Calling 
Moreau  to  his  assistance  he  placed  the  keg  in  the 
car  while  no  officer  was  in  sight. 

M.  Fosse,  who  was  a  sergeant,  protested. 

"No,  Gaspard,  don't  do  it.     This  is  robbery." 

"Robbery !"  said  Gaspard.  "No  wonder  you're 
a  sergeant!  Only  a  sergeant  could  talk  such  rot." 

With  his  bayonet  he  tried  to  pierce  the  thick  wood 
of  the  keg. 

"Robbery !  On  a  state  railway !  What  is  the 
state  ?  Why,  we  are  the  state.  Therefore,  travelling 
on  our  own  railway  whatever  I  find  belongs  to  us. 
Come  on,  pals,  bring  over  your  cups." 

Burette  passed  his  over  and  so  did  the  others,  but 
the  journalist  thought  a  word  of  apology  to  M. 
Fosse  was  in  order. 

"War  is  war!  It  would  probably  be  lost  any- 
way." 

"Oh,  don't  bother,"  said  Gaspard.  "Drink  and 
fill  up  again,  and  don't  interfere." 

There  were  three  drinks  of  beer  for  every  man 
in  the  car,  but  unfortunately  about  one-third  of  the 
contents  of  the  keg  was  spilled  on  the  floor.  Verily, 
this  was  the  life ! 

Their  only  source  of  worry  was  their  destination. 
Where  were  they  going?  To  the  east  or  to  the 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  35 

north?  All  agreed  that  it  must  be  the  north,  but 
later  on  they  changed  their  minds  and  decided  for 
the  east.  The  train  went  around  Paris  and  through 
the  suburbs  of  Champigny. 

Heavy  set  and  stout  territorials  were  guarding 
the  bridges,  and  many  amusing  remarks  were  called 
out  to  them  from  the  train. 

"Hello,  George!     How  goes  it?     Don't  worry." 

When  it  came  time  to  eat  the  men  divided  among 
themselves  their  supplies  of  sardines,  hard  boiled 
eggs,  sausages  and  chocolate,  after  which  all  enjoyed 
a  short  nap,  resting  on  each  other's  shoulder.  They 
were  already  getting  used  to  the  hardships  of  war 
and  slept  well  despite  the  cracking  of  the  wood  and 
the  clanking  of  the  wheels,  which  seemed  at  every 
turning  to  be  about  to  drop  off. 

After  twenty-four  hours  of  steady  travel  the  train 
pulled  into  the  station  at  Rheims. 

"Aren't  they  going  to  take  us  out  soon?"  queried 
Moreau.  "They're  not  going  to  ask  HS  to  fight  now, 
are  they?  We're  of  the  reserves  and  have  families. 
.  .  .  What  are  the  young  ones  doing?" 

"That,"  replied  Burette,  "is  a  childish  argument." 

"Why  so  ?"  said  Moreau,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"Under  what  name  do  you  write  in  the  papers?" 

"I  sign  my  articles  'Socrates.' ' 

"Oh,  you  Socrates !  .  .  .  Well,  you'd  do  better  in 
signing  'Simpleton.'  When  a  man  is  a  journalist 


36  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

he's  supposed  to  write  common  sense,  or  else  he's 
trying  to  make  fools  of  the  public. 

"And  therefore  I  repeat  that  tomorrow  we  will  be 
at  the  frontier." 

They  arrived  there  the  same  night. 

"This  Socrates  is  bringing  us  hard  luck,"  said 
Moreau. 

"Ah  come  on,"  replied  Gaspard.  "Who  would 
ever  believe  that  you  come  from  the  Rue  de  la  Gaite ! 
.  .  .  What  kind  of  blood  have  you  got  in  your  veins  ? 
.  .  .  We're  going  and  we're  on  our  way.  As  for  me, 
I'd  rather  see  them  and  get  through  with  them.  Be- 
lieve me,  the  first  Alboche  I  see  I'll  get,  and  I'm 
not  going  to  ask  him  if  he's  a  member  of  Parlia- 
ment or  if  he's  got  any  reference!  I'll  lose  no  time, 
take  it  from  me!" 

It  was  with  these  parting  words  that  he  set  foot 
upon  the  beautiful  land  of  Lorraine. 

His  words,  however,  failed  to  receive  the  reward 
they  deserved.  The  voice  of  an  officer  came  out  of 
the  shadow: 

"Silence,  damn  you!  This  is  no  time  for  jokes! 
We'll  get  shot  down  like  rabbits !" 

"Rabbits"  .  .  .  murmured  Moreau,  "well  we're 
really  in  for  it  ...  they're  right  here  waiting  for 
us." 

Almost  stupefied  by  the  realization  of  the  imme- 
diate danger  the  soldiers,  after  their  day  and  a  half 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  37 

spent  in  the  cattle  cars,  remained  silent.  The  regi- 
ment disembarked  on  a  platform,  without  a  light,  in 
a  country  unknown  to  the  men,  and  of  which  they 
only  knew  that  it  was  "the  frontier."  With  mouths 
half  open  the  men  raised  their  eyes  to  the  sky,  where 
only  a  few  pale  stars  could  be  seen.  A  strange, 
weird  wind  was  blowing  through  the  high  poplars 
and  the  distant  horizon  seemed  one  long  black  line 
intercepted  by  a  high  hill  which  seemed  like  a  wall 
behind  which  .  .  .  the  enemy. 

Without  a  whisper  the  men  moved  on.  They 
passed  over  a  river  or  a  bridge  well  mined  and  care- 
fully guarded.  They  then  proceeded  along  the  bank, 
carefully,  mysteriously,  two  by  two.  Here  was  war 
in  all  its  tragedy.  .  .  .  M.  Fosse  marched  along 
bravely  without  a  whisper  or  even  a  murmur ;  he  was 
beginning  to  do  his  duty.  The  men  from  Normandy 
came  dragging  along;  their  careful  instinct  warned 
them  of  the  danger.  Burette  was  thinking  of  his 
wife;  11  o'clock  at  night,  the  hour  at  which  he  gen- 
erally gave  her  his  good-night  kiss  .  .  .  and  Gas- 
pard  followed  along  with  the  care-free  step  of  the 
Parisian  wondering,  "Where  to?  What  does  it  all 
mean  ?" 

The  regiment  went  through  two  villages,  both  well 
prepared  for  defensive  purposes,  with  old  hay  wag- 
ons and  carts  barring  one-half  of  the  road.  Patrols 
of  dragoons  passed  them  repeatedly  and  the  in- 


38  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

fantrymen  were  often  compelled  to  dodge  quickly 
aside  to  avoid  the  hoofs  of  the  horses. 

Moreau  complained: 

"This  is  worse  than  a  nightmare,  dodging  these 
fools  on  their  horses." 

Weary  and  tired,  the  men  lost  all  desire  to  ex- 
change any  impressions.  After  three  hours  of  quick 
marching  through  the  darkness  of  the  night  these 
men  gave  no  more  thought  to  the  invisible  enemy, 
but  only  to  their  feet  and  their  backs  and  the  won- 
derful rest  to  come. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Gaspard,  dragging  his 
feet.  "They  must  have  all  run  away.  We'll  be  in 
Berlin  tomorrow  morning." 

"Are  you  tired?"  asked  Captain  Puche. 

"Me?  .  .  .  Oh,  no,  I'm  not  tired.  I  just  said 
that  to  say  something." 

But  at  the  break  of  dawn,  when  the  regiment 
finally  came  to  a  halt  in  a  small  village  and  the  men 
were  sent  to  sleep  in  haylofts,  Gaspard  threw  him- 
self down  on  the  hay  without  parting  with  his  rifle 
or  any  other  part  of  his  equipment,  and  paying  no 
attention  whatsoever  to  the  protests  of  the 
others. 

"There's  no  more  room.  Take  your  gun  out  of 
the  way!  What  do  you  think  of  that?  .  .  .  Well, 
he  should  worry!  There,  he's  already  begun  to 
snore!" 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  39 

Even  Burette  was  furious  because  he  was  unable 
to  find  a  comfortable  spot  for  himself. 

"He  has  taken  all  the  hay !  And  with  my  night- 
cap on!  I'm  disgusted!  I'm  going  to  sleep  right 
on  top  of  him!" 

This  didn't  worry  Gaspard.  He  was  dreaming  of 
his  snails  and  of  the  Rue  de  la  Gaite,  with  deep  sighs 
interrupted  here  and  there  by  one  or  two  words. 

After  two  hours  of  rest  the  men  were  ordered  out 
by  the  Colonel. 

"I  should  worry  about  the  Colonel,"  said  Gaspard. 

"The  first  one  who  bothers  me,"  said  Moreau, 
"will  be  sorry  for  it.  I'll  fire  my  whole  equipment 
right  square  in  the  centre  of  his  jaw." 

"It's  bad  enough  as  it  is,"  said  Burette.  "They 
would  do  better  to  serve  us  a  cup  of  chocolate." 

"And  other  up  to  date  improvements,"  added 
Gaspard. 

M.  Fosse,  his  hair  full  of  hay  and  half  asleep 
himself,  tried  to  quiet  the  men. 

"Come  on,  boys,  be  reasonable.  We'll  have  to 
make  some  coffee.  Where's  Gaspard?" 

"Gaspard,  he's  snoring  like  a  steam  engine." 

"I  am  surprised  at  you,  Gaspard — a  Parisian !" 

"Ah,  don't  talk  about  Paris !  What  do  you  know 
about  Paris?  In  Paris  when  you're  asleep  they  let 
you  alone.  In  Paris  there's  no  sergeant  to  worry 
you.  In  Paris — well,  you're  in  Paris,  while  here 


40  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

you're  treated  like  a  herd  of  cattle.  Believe  me, 
this  is  no  place  to  talk  of  Paris." 

"Some  brainstorm!  But  for  the  love  of  God, 
we're  at  war." 

"I  should  worry.     Good  night!" 

"Attention !" 

The  Captain  stuck  his  head  through  the  door. 

"Is  Gaspard  here?" 

"Present !    Here  I  am." 

"Well,  it's  up  to  you  to  give  us  some  good  coffee." 

"Sure,  Captain!" 

"And  bring  some  to  me." 

"Understood." 

"And  some  to  the  Lieutenant." 

"Don't  worry ;  they'll  all  get  it." 

The   Captain  disappeared.      M.   Fosse   remarked: 

"When  it's  the  Captain " 

Gaspard  looked  him  straight  in  the  face. 

"Well,  I  hope  you're  not  going  to  compare  your- 
self to  him.  He's  polite,  knows  how  to  talk  to  you." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  you  felt  flattered  because  he 
asked  you  for  some  of  your  coffee." 

"I  suppose  you  believe  that  you  asked  me." 

"I'm  not  speaking  about  myself." 

"Well,  good  for  you,  because,  you  know,  your 
sergeant's  braid  has  no  effect  on  me." 

"Well,  that  will  do,"  said  M.  Fosse.  "Go  no 
further  or  I  shall  have  to  punish  you." 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  41 

"Don't  try  any  airs  with  me." 

"Go  on  with  your  coffee." 

"Now  you're  not  talking  to  a  kid." 

"Go  on  with  your  coffee." 

"I'm  the  father  of  a  family,  my  boy,  and  take  it 
from  me,  I'm  doing  some  work  here." 

"Now  stop  it!" 

M.  Fosse  went  out,  his  eyes  aflame.  Gaspard 
looked  at  Moreau. 

"Something  wrong  with  that  fellow.  It's  pretty 
bad  when  you  have  to  go  to  war  with  half  luna- 
tics." 

"What  kind  of  sugar  have  you  got  for  your  cof- 
fee?" queried  Burette. 

"I  suppose  my  lord  would  like  some  special 
brand!" 

"And  how  about  brandy?  Have  they  got  any 
brandy  in  this  one  horse  town?  Have  you  seen  any 
of  the  natives?" 

"No,  but  I'm  going  to  explore." 

As  Gaspard  was  going  out  Burette  called  him 
back. 

"Don't  forget  that  if  you  find  a  sweet  little 
girl " 

"I'll  keep  her  for  myself!" 

Gaspard  made  his  coffee.  Two  hours  later  he 
made  soup  for  the  company  and  later  on  he  cooked 
the  evening  meal.  The  next  day  he  did  the  same. 


42  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

The  regiment  was  encamped  100  meters  from  the 
Meuse,  in  a  poor  little  village  of  Lorraine,  with  flat 
topped  houses,  the  roofs  of  which  seemed  to  have 
been  patched  up  with  tiles  of  many  descriptions  by 
inexperienced  hands.  The  houses  along  the  road 
seemed  to  have  been  placed  any  old  way,  regardless 
of  symmetry.  The  belfry  of  the  church  seemed 
about  to  collapse,  while  the  church  itself  appeared 
to  be  the  work  of  a  child  trying  its  hand  at  archi- 
tecture. The  whole  place  seemed  lamentably  de- 
serted and  desolate  and  the  approaching  misfor- 
tunes recalled  all  that  this  country  had  suffered  in 
days  gone  by. 

Forever  war-ravaged,  this  province  has  grown 
accustomed  to  go  through  an  invasion  as  another 
district  experiences  a  storm,  and  forever  expecting 
the  enemy,  the  inhabitants  show  no  surprise  when 
they  find  out  that  he  has  actually  come.  The  vil- 
lage had  been  hastily  rebuilt  as  though  it  was  pre- 
pared to  go  down  again  at  the  shortest  notice.  The 
inhabitants  are  hardened  and  resigned.  And  the 
soldiers  who  come  from  more  fortunate  provinces 
cannot  understand  that  if  the  inhabitants  of  these 
parts  seem  rude  it  is  because  they  have  suffered  so 
much  already. 

Gaspard,  who  had  been  going  from  one  door  to 
another,  calling  for  butter,  onions,  potatoes  and 
other  provisions,  returned  in  rage. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  43 

"A  fine  lot  of  brutes !  It's  a  pretty  mean  deal  to 
have  to  go  out  and  fight  for  that  kind  of  idiots !" 

But  his  remarks  found  no  response,  for  his  com- 
rades had  been  taken  down  to  the  banks  of  the  river 
by  the  Captain,  who  was  putting  them  through  a 
morning  drill  just  as  in  time  of  peace. 

A  general  order  to  that  effect  had  been  issued 
to  the  entire  regiment,  but  Captain  Puche  had  such 
a  quiet  and  peaceful  way  of  carrying  it  out  that  his 
interesting  personality  is  worthy  of  more  careful 
description. 

The  Colonel  and  the  other  officer  had  during  the 
past  five  days  been  outspoken  in  their  patriotic  talk 
and  had  never  lost  an  opportunity  to  deliver  a 
stirring  war  speech.  The  Captain,  on  the  contrary, 
had  never  made  any  reference  whatsoever  to  the  war. 
He  was  going  there  without  the  slightest  hesitation, 
but  saw  no  reason  for  stirring  speeches ;  he  was  not 
a  lawyer,  but  a  Captain,  and  before  thinking  of 
the  battle  of  which  he  and  his  men  knew  nothing 
his  first  thought  was  of  his  duty  to  see  that  his  men 
were  well  fed  and  well  trained.  He  never  thought 
of  saying :  "Soldiers  .  .  .  your  country  .  .  .  glory 
.  .  .  the  flag  .  .  .  sacrifice  .  .  .  bloodshed  .  .  ." 
No;  his  idea  was  to  say  to  his  men:  "My  boys,  are 
your  rations  satisfactory?  Are  the  potatoes  well 
cooked?  Have  all  the  men  received  their  reserve 
supply  of  provisions?" 
4 


44  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

As  a  matter  of  fact  this  attitude  was  not  under- 
stood. The  French  people  love  stirring  speeches. 
This  chief,  despite  all  his  tender  attentions,  was  too 
much  of  a  materialist  to  please  the  250  men  of  his 
company ;  they  wanted  more  verbal  patriotism.  The 
men  tired  of  the  Captain's  questions  and  failed  to 
understand  his  excellent  intentions. 

What  the  men  resented  more  than  anything  else 
was  the  fact  that  when  only  a  very  short  distance 
from  the  enemy's  line  the  Captain  gave  his  orders 
for  the  drill  with  the  petty  dulness  and  lack  of  ex- 
citement which  he  displayed  at  home  in  time  of  peace. 

"Fine  business  this  is!  What  does  he  think  we're 
here  for?  I  suppose  he'll  have  us  polishing  up  our 
buttons  this  afternoon !" 

He  probably  would  if  the  equipment  had  included 
the  necessary  polishing  powder.  For  to  Captain 
Puche  the  polishing  of  a  soldier's  brass  buttons  was 
another  form  of  discipline,  and  a  good  way  of  keep- 
ing his  troops  well  in  hand.  Whenever  he  brought 
them  back  to  their  encampment  he  would  say  while 
dismounting:  "Equipment  and  traps  to  be  cleaned 
at  once;  I  will  come  around  and  inspect  them  my- 
self." And  the  order  was  given  in  the  same  tone 
of  friendly  seriousness. 

The  war  had  brought  about  no  change  in  this 
most  peculiar  man.  He  remained  in  Lorraine  just 
exactly  what  he  was  in  the  provincial  quarters  of 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  45 

the  military  school,  where  he  made  out  at  night  de- 
tailed accounts  of  the  condition  of  the  men's  shirts 
and  shoes.  He  was  a  pure  type  of  a  respectable 
bourgeois,  who  carefully  puts  up  jam  every  summer 
for  the  following  winter,  and  who,  forever  practical, 
continues  during  the  most  momentous  hours  to  be- 
lieve in  the  importance  of  all  small  things  of  life. 
This  attention  to  the  smaller  details  is  generally 
most  offensive  to  more  exalted  minds  who  cannot 
believe  in  the  usefulness  of  an  officer  who  is  at  the 
same  time  an  official  and  remains  strictly  in  his  own 
place  and  at  his  own  work,  leaving  to  others  the 
discussion  and  consideration  of  higher  thoughts. 

War,  life,  death  are  all  very  beautiful  subjects 
for  the  civilian  to  discuss ;  he  has  much  time  to  spare. 
But  a  Captain  has  no  time  to  lose.  He  must  watch 
the  supplies  given  to  his  men.  He  must  take  care 
of  their  food  and  their  stomachs.  Philosophers,  who 
have  not  been  mobilized,  can  take  care  of  the  weird 
works  of  destiny,  the  great  problems  of  human  ex- 
istence and  the  great  unanswered  questions  of  the 
war.  The  military  profession  constitutes  a  barrier 
erected  in  front  of  all  these  problems.  The  soldier 
must  act;  he  must  not  think.  As  soon  as  he  begins 
to  think  the  enemy  jumps  on  his  back.  The  first 
act  of  war  is  to  forget  every  article  of  imagination. 
Captain  Puche,  who  seemed  to  have  no  imagination 
whatsoever,  was  therefore  a  most  valuable  chief. 


46  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

None  of  his  men,  not  even  Burette,  noticed  this 
during  the  first  few  days.  Gaspard,  who  remained 
at  his  pots  and  pans  and  therefore  did  not  attend 
the  drills,  spoke  of  these  exercises  in  a  highly  con- 
temptuous manner.  He  thought  them  entirely  un- 
called for  and  untimely,  but 

"In  this  business  you're  not  supposed  to  try  to 
understand.  They're  our  bosses  and  we're  just  plain 
numbers." 

"Well,  that's  going  a  bit  too<  far,"  said  Moreau. 

Romarin,  the  barber's  assistant  from  A , 

proved  more  energetic. 

"Well,  I've  come  here  to  fight  and  that's  all  I 
want  now." 

Clopurte,  the  grocer,  had  nothing  to  say. 

At  times  young  Pinceloup,  a  big,  heavy  set  farmer 
with  a  face  thoroughly  baked  in  the  sun,  would  say : 

"For  all  we  know  we  may  never  see  the  alboches." 

"Don't  be  foolish,"  said  Gaspard. 

"Foolish  nothing;  don't  forget  that  we  belong  to 
the  reserves." 

"Go  on ;  I  like  to  hear  you  talk." 

"If  the  active  troops  do  their  job  well " 

"Poor  fool,  where  do  you  come  from?  Were  you 
born  this  morning?" 

"I'm  no  more  of  a  fool  than  you  are." 

"You're  not  a  fool;  you're  a  damn  fool." 

"Well,   all  I  know  is   that  we've  been  here  five 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  47 

days  and  the  others  have  skipped.  Why  do  you 
think  they  beat  it?" 

"Where  do  you  come  from?"  said  Gaspard. 

"My  home  is  in  Pin-la-Garenne." 

"Are  there  many  fools  like  you  there?" 

Sergeant  Fosse  rushed  into  the  hayloft  and  said: 

"We're  going!  You'll  have  to  get  ready  in  fif- 
teen minutes." 

"Where  are  we  going?"  asked  Moreau. 

"We're  going  right  to  it,  my  boy.  You'd  better 
number  your  arms  and  legs." 

"The  deuce  you  say!"  exclaimed  Gaspard.  "Are 
you  sure  of  it?" 

"I  heard  the  Colonel  say  it  to  Puche." 

"Hurray,  pals,  this  is  the  life !" 

He  cornered  poor  Pinceloup,  exclaiming,  "You're 
some  prophet." 

Pinceloup  had  turned  white  and  so  had  Clopurte, 
while  Romarin  was  beaming  with  joy.  Gaspard 
danced  around  the  place  with  Burette. 

"Didn't  you  hear  him?" 

"Of  course  I  did." 

"Well,  how  about  you;  aren't  you  happy?" 

"You  bet  I'm  happy !" 

"Well,  then,  it's  time  to  begin  to  laugh,  old  pal. 
We're  going  to  see  just  what  the  alboche  is  made 
of." 

His  happiness  was  so  sincere  that  it  put  courage 


48  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

into  the  hearts  of  the  weakest.  As  he  was  prepar- 
ing for  the  march  his  parting  remark  was :  "At 
last  we'll  get  a  chance  of  a  real  fight  without  fear 
of  the  cops." 

The  regiment  started  at  once. 

The  weather  was  exceptionally  fine  and  the  morn- 
ing breeze  gave  courage  to  these  inexperienced 
troops  on  the  first  day  of  their  misery.  Gaspard 
kept  on  smoking,  talking,  singing  or  eating  while 
marching  along.  From  time  to  time  he  would  be 
seen  carrying  two  rifles  while  Moreau  was  shaking 
a  prune  tree.  The  latter  would  return  with  his 
cap  full  of  prunes  which  he  distributed  to  the  others, 
but  the  fruit  was  not  ripe.  Two  minutes  later  Mo- 
reau was  carrying  two  rifles,  Gaspard  having  dis- 
appeared in  a  farm.  He  reappeared  shortly,  exhib- 
iting to  his  friends  what  he  had  found: 

"Butter,  pals ;  yes,  real  butter.     And  fresh  too." 

"Just  like  in  the  Avenue  du  Maine,"  said  Moreau. 

And  it  was  just  as  in  the  Avenue  du  Maine.  A 
line  of  twelve  motor  buses  from  Paris  passed  the 
men  on  the  road.  Gaspard  inquired  where  the  bus 
stopped,  while  Moreau  imitated  a  stout  woman  try- 
ing to  get  into  the  bus  and  saying: 

"See  that  you're  more  polite,  conductor." 

Even  the  men  from  the  country  who  recalled  their 
visits  to  the  capital  during  the  world's  fair  or  on 
the  occasion  of  the  marriage  of  some  relative  were 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  49 

greatly  amused  in  listening  to  these  merry  jesters 
who  helped  them  to  pass  the  time  away  and  forget 
the  heavy  load  which  they  were  carrying. 

Even  Pinceloup  and  Clopurte  recovered  their 
good  spirits,  as  the  enemy  seemed  as  far  away  as 
ever.  They  were  marching  through  a  beautiful  dis- 
trict and  were  swinging  along  at  a  good  pace  while 
Gaspard  was  singing  at  the  top  of  his  voice  a  merry 
marching  song. 

He  had  just  come  to  the  end  of  the  first  verse 
when  suddenly  the  air  was  shaken  by  a  formidable 
rumble.  The  regiment  understood. 

"The  cannons !"  said  almost  every  voice. 

Gaspard's  face  revealed  nothing  but  pure  delight. 

"Go  to  it!"  he  said.  "I  hope  that  one  hits  them 
square  in  the  eye." 

The  men  laughed ;  although  they  had  been  march- 
ing since  6  o'clock  in  the  morning,  they  were  merry 
and  in  fine  spirits.  At  the  same  time  a  wonderful 
rumor  was  current  among  them:  A  revolution  had 
broken  out  in  Germany.  Yes,  actually  a  revolution. 
Great  rejoicing  followed,  but  none  of  the  men  was 
surprised,  for  the  thing  had  been  expected  ever  since 
August  2.  Is  it  not  always  the  case  that  when  all 
of  a  country's  neighbors  turn  against  it  the  people 
turn  against  their  own  leaders? 

"Burette  told  us  so,"  said  Gaspard.  "Believe  me, 
he  knows." 


50  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"It  was  bound  to  come,"  said  Burette  quietly,  his 
face  beaming  with  joy.  In  the  newspapers  it  had 
been  predicted  and  every  one  expected  it.  A  gen- 
eral coalition  against  Germany  would  inevitably 
mean  bankruptcy,  starvation  and  civil  war  in  the 
course  of  one  month. 

"Sure !"  said  Gaspard.  "Maybe  they  are  already 
eating  their  shoe  soles !" 

The  Captain  came  along  on  his  horse. 

"Captain,  is  it  true  that  there's  a  revolution  in 
Germany  ?" 

Puche  replied  simply:  "So  they  say."  And  ex- 
plained nothing  further,  as  his  mount  was  eager  to 
go  on  ahead. 

Gaspard  laughed. 

"Well,  the  Captain  doesn't  worry  at  least!" 

One  hour  later  they  reached  a  village,  where  they 
encamped.  Nothing  further  had  been  heard  from 
the  guns. 

"I  told  you  so,"  said  Pinceloup.  "We'll  never 
see  the  alboches." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  this  other  little  village  of 
Lorraine  seemed  quite  peaceful  and  far  removed  from 
the  scene  of  any  fighting.  This  one  was  just  as 
poor  as  the  other  one  with  cracked  walls  and  dilapi- 
dated houses,  but  the  weather  was  so  beautiful  that 
it  seemed  much  brighter  than  the  first  village 
through  which  the  regiment  had  passed. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  51 

"Where  are  we?"  said  Gaspard  to  an  old 
woman  who,  with  her  rusty  key,  was  trying  to 
open  the  door  to  a  hayloft  to  be  used  by  the  com- 
pany. 

"Why,  you're  right  here  in  our  village,"  was  the 
reply. 

"But  are  we  far  from  them?" 

"From  here  to  Metz  it  is  eight  miles." 

"Eight  miles?  Good!  We  belong  to  the  reserve, 
so  we  should  worry.  Eh,  pals?  Meanwhile  we'll  re- 
cuperate with  a  good  hot  soup,  and  some  soup  it's 
going  to  be!" 

At  every  stop  Gaspard  would  throw  his  haversack 
and  rifle  into  some  corner  and  ask  Burette  to  watch 
them  while  he  set  out  to  find  food. 

On  that  particular  evening  he  decided  that  he 
would  go  in  person  to  fetch  meat  for  the  company. 

He  recalled  that  at  A he  had  dined  with  the 

butcher  and  was  now  going  to  take  advantage  of 
that  man's  beneficial  friendship. 

The  supply  wagons  were  lined  up  in  the  church 
square  and  through  the  open  door  of  the  great  truck 
could  be  seen  the  enormous  head  of  the  butcher  be- 
tween huge  quarters  of  beef  suspended  around  him. 
He  appeared,  then  disappeared  behind  the  masses 
of  meat  which  he  would  take  down,  cut  up  and  hang 
back  on  their  hooks  without  apparently  the  slightest 
effort.  He  seemed  to  delight  in  digging  his  huge 


52  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

knife  into  the  meat  and  was  surely  enjoying  im- 
mensely his  work. 

"This  is  for  me,"  said  Gaspard,  "and  see  that 
I'm  well  served.  A  good  sirloin,  as  fine  as  they 
come." 

The  butcher  winked  his  eye. 

"Are  you  taking  care  of  the  food?" 

"That's  me,"  said  Gaspard.  "Can't  get  the  others 
to  do  any  work." 

He  said  it  with  pride,  for  he  knew  well  that  in  a 
company  there  are  two  important  men:  its  leader 
and  the  man  who  makes  the  soup,  the  Captain  and 
the  cook.  He  was  the  cook. 

To  the  average  soldier,  the  man  who  is  "serving" 
in  the  real  meaning  of  the  word,  war  is  chiefly  a 
long  series  of  trials  for  the  body,  marching  with  all 
your  luggage  on  your  back  in  weather  either  too 
hot  or  too  cold  and  all  the  other  sufferings  and,  at 
last,  starvation,  the  great  enemy,  and  death.  But 
in  death  one  forgets  the  straps  which  shorten  the 
breath  or  the  sufferings  which  make  one's  feet  feel 
heavier  than  the  boots.  And  then  again,  death  is 
often  instantaneous,  without  suffering,  while  hunger 
pursues  and  tortures  an  army  for  many,  many  days. 

There  is  no  terror  in  death,  but  hunger  is  the 
arch  enemy  who  wipes  out  all  the  perils  of  war. 
And  that  is  why  the  man  who  prepares  the  food  is 
so  important  a  person.  He  is  responsible  for  the 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  53 

good  hot  soup  which  helps  the  men  to  surmount  all 
their  other  troubles,  to  overcome  fatigue  and  sleepi- 
ness, making  every  man  at  the  front  merry  and 
bright  and  happy. 

Gaspard  knew  it  well,  and  in  his  pride  as  a  Pa- 
risian, happy  in  the  knowledge  that  he  was  indis- 
pensable, he  went  at  his  work  with  great  enthusiasm. 

"Don't  be  afraid,  I'll  fix  it  for  you." 

There  was  no  earthly  reason  why  he  should  have 
been  selected  to  do  the  cooking.  He  was  clever  and 
bright,  but  the  business  of  buying  and  preparing 
snails  was  the  only  thing  he  knew  well  and  it  had 
nothing  in  common  with  making  soup.  The  result 
was  that  his  concoction  was  deplorably  bad.  Every- 
thing he  cooked  was  practically  sodden.  Neverthe- 
less, it  was  with  great  pride  that  he  announced:  "It's 
ready!  Go  on  and  eat." 

The  men,  knowing  that  a  cook  is  generally  very 
sensitive,  were  lavish  in  their  compliments,  and  would 
often  stop  eating  to  exclaim  "Fine!" 

"Well,"  said  Gaspard,  "you'll  have  to  leave  it  to 
me  to  get  around;  I  found  butter  and  onions  and 
when  it  comes  to  soup  I  think  you've  got  it." 

The  others,  swallowing  their  spoonfuls  of  hot 
water,  replied: 

"You  bet  .  .  .  you  surely  know  how." 

"All  that's  missing,"  said  Burette,  "is  a  little  glass 
of  sherry  or  port." 


54  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

He  was  sprawling  on  the  hay,  his  eyes  wandering 
around  the  loft,  resting  on  the  beams  supporting 
the  roof,  where  the  spider  webs  were  so  thick  that 
they  looked  like  pieces  of  cloth.  The  loft  was  im- 
mense, with  many  dark  corners  where  the  hay  was 
piled  up  in  high  stacks.  Meantime  nightfall  had 
come  and  only  a  small  ray  of  light  came  through 
a  half  open  door,  displaying  weird  shadows  on  the 
walls.  In  the  back  some  of  the  men  were  already 
snoring.  Gaspard  resumed  his  song  and  one  by  one 
the  men  fell  asleep. 

On  the  following  morning  it  was  raining.  Gas- 
pard was  furious. 

"Where  the  deuce  am  I  going  to  do  my  cooking 
in  this  weather?" 

Burette  grumbled  as  he  arose. 

"Oh,  my  poor  back  ...  no  more  of  this.  I've 
got  to  have  a  bed.  It's  bad  enough  to  be  without 
your  wife." 

Bang!     The  big  guns  were  heard  again. 

"I  suppose  we're  just  about  taking  Metz  from 
them,"  said  Moreau. 

"Metz  or  no  Metz,"  said  Gaspard,  "where  am  I 
going  to  do  my  cooking?" 

"You  give  me  a  pain  with  your  cooking,"  said 
Romarin. 

"I  give  you  what!  .  .  .  Well,  young  sport,  just 
try  to  come  round  like  yesterday  and  ask  me  for  any 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  55 

special  cut  of  the  meat  ...  I  give  you  a  pain, 
do  I?" 

"Come  on,"  said  Burette,  "none  of  this  fighting. 
You'd  do  better  to  go  out  and  get  me  some  fresh 
eggs.  I'm  beginning  to  feel  real  hungry." 

He  took  Gaspard's  arm. 

"Let's  go  and  visit  the  chicken  coops." 

In  the  village  Gaspard  again  began  to  worry. 

"What  am  I  going  to  do  about  the  food?" 

"All  you  have  to  do,"  Burette  replied,  "is  to  stand 
here  behind  the  church  where  you  will  be  sheltered 
from  the  rain." 

"And  what  if  the  priest  objects?" 

"The  priest  is  a  good  chap,  as  they  all  are." 

"Well,  when  it  comes  to  that  you  have  nothing 
to  tell  me,"  said  Gaspard.  "I  know  the  priests  and 
haven't  got  much  use  for  them." 

"What  did  they  ever  do  to  you?"  queried  Bu- 
rette. "But  while  telling  me  your  grievances, 
don't  forget  that  I'm  still  looking  for  a  chicken 
coop." 

"Chicken  coops !  Why,  there  are  hundreds  of 
them !  Look  here,  let's  try  that  nice  looking  house 
over  there." 

After  knocking  at  the  door  he  returned  to  his 
favorite  subject. 

"Priests  are  men  with  money,  believe  me;  I  know 
what  they  get  in  their  collection  boxes.  When  I 


56  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

was  12  years  old  when  my  mother  sent  me  to  church 
for  my  first  communion  .  .  ." 

"Try  the  door  again,"  said  Burette. 

"Nobody  home?  .  .  .  These  poor  fools  ought  to 
come  and  spend  some  time  in  Paris  .  .  .  Bang !  .  .  . 
There  go  the  big  guns  again  .  .  .  What  a  rotten 
life !  .  .  .  I'm  sick  of  it  ...  But  as  to  the  priests 
.  .  .  When  I  was  12  years  old  I  used  to  go  to  Sun- 
day school  with  a  corset-steel  dipped  in  glue  with 
which  I  could  fish  pennies  out  of  the  poor  box.  And 
believe  me,  it  was  an  easy  job  to  get  pennies.  .  .  . 
But  when  we  were  caught  we  paid  for  it,  take  it 
from  me." 

The  door  of  the  house  was  opened  and  the  village 
priest  appeared  on  the  threshold. 

Gaspard  stepped  back,  stupefied. 

Burette  said: 

"Pardon  us,  monsieur  le  cure,  we're  trying  to  get 
a  few  eggs." 

"I  have  a  few  left.  .  .  .  Come  in." 

He  was  a  typical  priest  of  Lorraine,  heavy  set,  with 
large  feet,  broad  shoulders  and  a  severe  look  in  his 
eye,  but  friendly  nevertheless  and  seemingly  full  of 
life. 

"Well,  I  suppose  you  will  not  object  to  a  glass 
of  wine,"  he  said. 

This  was  a  new  shock  to  Gaspard,  who  stuttered: 

"Well  .      .  You  know  how  we  feel  .      ." 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  57 

There  were  new  surprises  in  store  for  Gaspard, 
for  the  priest  added: 

"And  if  you  need  any  tobacco,  chocolate,  pencils 
or  paper,  just  put  in  your  order.  I  will  be  going  to 
Verdun  presently  on  my  bicycle." 

"This  is  really  great,"  said  Gaspard,  "for  the 
truth  is  that  we  haven't  been  able  to  get  anything. 
.  .  .  I'd  like  to  have  some  chocolate  .  .  .  and  also 
some  tobacco  for  my  pipe.  .  .  .  What  do  you  know 
about  this,  Burette !" 

"Well,  you'll  have  it  all  to-night,"  said  the  priest, 
"only  don't  forget  that  it's  up  to  you  to  march  into 
Germany." 

"You  bet!  .  .  .  And  if  we  can  elope  with  their 
Kaiser  ..." 

"What  would  you  do  with  him?"  asked  the 
priest. 

"Oh,"  said  Gaspard,  "I  wasn't  thinking  of  having 
him  stuffed,  but  just  of  holding  him  tight  and  say- 
ing, with  a  good  straight  look  in  his  eyes :  'Now,  you 
reprobate,  you  poor  damn  fool,  do  you  realize  what 
you  have  done  ?' ' 

Some  one  was  knocking  at  the  door. 

It  was  Moreau  who  entered,  out  of  breath. 

"I  saw  you  go  in  here!  Get  out  quick!  We  are 
moving  on !" 

"Come  on,"  said  Burette,  "give  us  time  to  swallow 
an  egg!" 


58  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"Oh,  they're  beginning  to  get  on  my  nerves,"  said 
Gaspard. 

"Well,  such  is  war,"  said  the  priest  laughingly. 
"I'm  sorry  I  couldn't  get  you  the  chocolate  and 
tobacco." 

"It  isn't  your  fault,"  said  Gaspard.  "What  a 
rotten  job!  You'd  think  their  only  pleasure  is  to 
bother  people!" 

Grumbling  to  each  other  the  three  soldiers  left 
the  house. 

"It's  a  shame  to  have  to  leave  such  a  good  place," 
said  Moreau. 

"As  to  me,  I've  done  enough  walking  since  yester- 
day," added  Burette. 

"The  worst  of  it  all,"  exclaimed  Gaspard,  "is 
that  we  were  just  about  to  get  something  to 
drink,  because,  you  know,  that  priest  was  a 
mighty  fine  old  man !  For  a  priest,  he  was  some 
priest !" 

After  resuming  the  march  they  were  still  talking 
about  the  priest. 

"Well,  I've  known  many  of  these  father  confessors, 
but  not  one  like  that  one !" 

"But  you  are  still  young,"  said  Burette.  .  .  . 
"Give  me  some  tobacco." 

"Well,  I'm  not  saying  that  all  priests  are  bad, 
but  I'm  just  talking  about  what  I  have  seen  myself, 
see?" 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  59 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Burette.  "Give  me  a  piece 
of  cigarette  paper." 

"And  what  else  would  you  like?" 

"A  match." 

"I  see  that  all  you've  got  to  smoke  with  is  your 
mouth." 

"Yes,  and  my  ears  to  listen  to  you.  Go  on,  I 
like  to  hear  you  talk." 

"I'm  through.  I  was  just  saying  that  fellow's  a 
real  priest  and  not  a  bluff.  He  knows  how  to  give 
you  a  drink  .  .  .  and  while  I  think  of  it,  I  swallowed 
mine  so  quickly  that  I  don't  remember  the  taste,  and 
I'm  pretty  dry  now." 

They  were  passing  a  cottage  in  front  of  which 
stood  a  woman. 

"Eh,  mamma,  what  have  you  got  to  drink?"  said 
Gaspard. 

The  woman  looked  on  but  made  no  reply.  A 
child  came  running  up  to  her  and  Gaspard  exclaimed : 

"Good  morning,  Glory!     Give  papa  a  smile." 

The  rain  had  stopped,  but  in  the  course  of  the 
night  the  roads  had  become  a  mass  of  soft  mud 
under  the  wheels  of  the  supply  wagons  and  gun  car- 
riages, which  passed  the  men  in  a  never  ending 
stream,  compelling  them  often  to  step  into  the  ditch. 
Bang!  .  .  .  The  guns  were  getting  closer  and  were 
firing  away  at  shorter  intervals.  Pinceloup  hadn't 
spoken  a  word.  Gaspard  declared: 


60  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"We're  going  right  to  them  now.  I'm  going  to 
ask  the  Captain." 

He  returned  with  a  bright  smile  on  his  face.  The 
Captain  had  replied : 

"To-day  each  man  will  eat  his  ration  of  canned 
meat." 

"He  surely  is  a  card,"  said  Burette.  "When  we 
get  right  under  fire  he'll  probably  ask  us,  'Has  every 
man  got  his  boots  polished?'' 

"Well,  with  all  that  we're  still  marching  on," 
grumbled  Burette. 

"The  revolution  in  Germany  has  never  been 
confirmed,"  said  Sergeant  Fosse,  weary  and  dis- 
gusted. 

The  rain  began  to  fall  again  and  the  mud  was 
getting  thicker.  They  had  left  the  level  section 
of  the  country  and  were  marching  up  and  down 
hills,  which  proved  extremely  trying  to  the  men. 

"I'm  getting  sick  of  all  this,"  said  Gaspard. 
"How  can  any  one  enjoy  himself  when  he  is  turning 
his  back  to  the  Eiffel  Tower?" 

"How  about  turning  your  back  to  your  wife?" 
asked  Burette. 

"I'm  with  you,"  said  Moreau,  "I'm  pretty  sick  of 
it  all." 

"Well,  dig  a  grave  and  jump  into  it,"  said  Gas- 
pard. 

Someone  blew  a  whistle  and  the  men  stopped. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  61 

"Line  up !"  ordered  the  sergeants. 

"Ah,  shut  up !"  grumbled  Gaspard. 

The  men  had  a  few  minutes'  rest  while  the  rain 
was  still  falling,  a  thin,  penetrating  rain,  which 
drenched  their  uniforms. 

After  a  quick  drink  and  a  few  strong  remarks 
regarding  the  division  of  the  small  quantity  of  stim- 
ulants available  the  march  was  resumed. 

Captain  Puche  had  dismounted  and  was  marching 
alongside  of  his  men  and  taking  advantage  of  this 
opportunity  to  give  out  a  few  words  of  advice  as 
to  the  proper  way  of  opening  tins  of  canned  meat 
with  a  knife: 

"Only  one  tin  for  two,  because  after  it  is  opened 
the  contents  will  not  keep." 

"Where  are  we  going?"  asked  the  men. 

"We  are  getting  closer,"  the  Captain  replied. 
"We  are  going  to  support  the  active  troops." 

"Well,  is  there  any  chance  of  fighting  to-day?" 
said  Romarin,  his  eyes  afire. 

"I  couldn't  tell  you,"  said  Captain  Puche.  "At 
all  events  don't  forget  that  we  are  entitled  to  one  tin 
of  canned  meat  for  each  man." 

It  was  true  that  they  were  entitled  to  it,  but  they 
hardly  found  time  to  empty  the  tins.  At  every  stop 
as  soon  as  Gaspard  managed  to  open  one  of  them  a 
whistle  would  be  heard  which  brought  the  men  to 
their  feet  again  and  they  were  compelled  to  continue 


62  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

the  eating  during  the  march,  which  caused  them 
to  long  twice  as  much  for  a  drink. 

During  the  evening  the  rain  stopped.  The  clouds 
were  rolling  away  and  the  setting  sun  could  be  seen 
over  the  hills,  giving  a  strange,  savage  and  warlike 
appearance  to  the  surrounding  country.  The  men 
had  been  marching  on  for  ten  hours  and  Moreau 
was  limping.  When  night  came  they  were  still  push- 
ing forward.  They  were  weary  and  worn  out,  with 
drooping  heads,  and  shoulders  bent  under  the  weight 
of  the  haversacks. 

The  night  was  dry,  without  moon  or  stars,  and 
the  men  went  on  in  the  footsteps  of  those  marching 
ahead  of  them. 

Toward  midnight,  after  fifteen  hours  of  march, 
even  Gaspard,  whose  throat  was  dry  and  whose  feet 
were  painful,  realized  that  fatigue  was  getting  the 
best  of  him.  He  had  lost  his  good  humor  and  was 
beginning  to  grumble : 

"Why  don't  they  tell  us  what  they  are  doing? 
Why  are  they  treating  us  like  a  herd  of  cattle?  I 
warn  them,  I'll  give  it  all  up!" 

"It"  meant  the  General  Staff,  the  Generals,  France. 
He  added: 

"What  does  this  mean,  to  keep  on  marching  like 
fools?  When  I  want  to  get  a  man  I  wait  for  him 
at  the  corner  of  a  street,  I  don't  keep  on  marching 
all  night." 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  63 

There  was  almost  a  tone  of  hate  in  the  voices 
which  replied  approvingly  to  Gaspard's  words.  The 
men  were  worn  out.  But  Puche,  who  had  overheard 
their  talk,  came  along  and  said: 

"Gaspard,  I  bet  that  you  and  Moreau  are  the 
least  tired  of  all." 

"Well,  I'm  not  saying;  it's  quite  possible,"  said 
Gaspard. 

"Well,  then  you  two  go  ahead  and  get  us  a  good 
soup  ready  about  eight  miles  from  here  where  we  are 
going  to  halt." 

"Soup!     You  bet  I  will !" 

And  taking  Moreau's  arm  Gaspard  left  the  ranks. 

"If  we  find  any  oysters  can  we  take  them?" 

"Go  right  ahead ;  the  company  will  settle  the  bill." 

He  found  no  oysters,  but  at  the  break  of  day 
caught  a  duck  roaming  near  a  farm.  He  carried  it 
under  his  arm,  caressing  it  all  the  way,  and  when  the 
time  came  to  stop  he  prepared  it  for  supper. 

In  the  surrounding  fields  he  found  potatoes  and 
other  vegetables  and  also  a  sheltered  corner  where 
he  could  build  a  fire.  Thanks  to  Gaspard,  when  the 
company  arrived  hunger  sat  down  to  a  capital  meal 
and  fatigue  disappeared  immediately. 

This  time  no  one  noticed  that  the  cooking  was 
poor.  Whatever  the  soup  might  have  been  like  it 
was  hot  and  tasty  and  the  men  were  so  famished  that 
nothing  could  have  given  them  more  joy. 


64  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

Gaspard's  greatest  pleasure  was  to  watch  the 
other  men  eat. 

But  the  rest  was  short.  Hardly  had  they  finished 
their  meal  when  the  order  was  given  to  start  on 
again.  Gaspard  had  made  coffee  and  he  quickly 
filled  the  men's  bottles.  He  was  so  generous  in  tak- 
ing care  of  them  all  that  he  suddenly  discovered 
there  was  nothing  left  for  himself;  even  the  soup 
had  vanished  to  the  last  drop.  He  went  into  a  blue 
rage. 

"After  doing  all  the  work  not  a  thing  left  to  the 
cook !" 

Moreau  tried  in  vain  to  quiet  him  and  a  Lieuten- 
ant also  failed.  He  declared  that  he  would  refuse  to 
fight,  that  he  had  rather  become  a  German  and 
that  he  was  going  to  have  himself  placed  on  the 
sick  list. 

When  the  march  was  resumed  he  was  still  grum- 
bling. 

The  weather  was  oppressively  hot  and  the  sur- 
rounding country  seemed  deserted  and  dead.  Sud- 
denly the  guns  were  heard  again,  blazing  away  fast 
and  furiously.  The  men  were  exhausted,  but  could 
not  repress  a  feeling  of  terror.  This  time  the  battle 
was  at  hand. 

They  went  through  a  cornfield,  passed  along  a 
small  wood,  went  through  a  village  which  seemed 
abandoned  and  dead  and  after  a  bend  in  the  road  a 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  65 

straight  stretch  could  be  seen  going  up  to  the  top  of 
a  hill.  What  would  the  men  see  after  reaching  that 
point  ? 

What  they  did  see  was  far  more  than  even  the 
most  fearful  had  expected.  Their  hearts  almost 
ceased  beating  and  murmurs  of  fright  and  anguish 
went  through  the  ranks,  for  suddenly  the  regiment 
had  caught  its  first  terrifying  vision  of  war;  the 
horizon  was  in  flames. 

The  Germans  were  there.  This  kind  of  fire  was 
their  barrier.  They  were  setting  fire  to  the  vil- 
lage. 

Gaspard  felt  a  sharp  pain  in  his  heart;  he  knew 
now  what  he  was  going  to  do;  he  remembered  that 
he  was  French. 

Still  marching  on,  the  men  never  lost  sight  of  the 
scene  of  horrors  before  them.  They  were  now  go- 
ing through  the  endless  line  of  fugitives,  human 
beings  and  animals,  women,  children,  old  men  piled 
into  rickety  wagons,  drawn  by  dilapidated  horses 
rejected  by  the  army. 

The  alarm  had  been  so  sudden  that  the  inhabi- 
tants had  been  unable  to  gather  their  belongings  in 
any  kind  of  order  and  they  heaped  upon  the  wagons 
articles  of  furniture  and  clothing. 

"Oh,  the  brutes!"  said  Gaspard,  "I'll  get  their 
skin !  I'll  get  their  skin !" 

The  road  at  this  point  was  narrow  and  the  regi- 


66  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

ment  halted  to  permit  the  long  line  of  fugitives  to 
go  by.  Men,  women  and  children,  dogs  and  cows 
dragged  or  pushed  along  the  road. 

A  woman  went  by  screaming,  her  hair  in  her  eyes. 
She  had  lost  one  of  her  three  children  and  the  two 
others  were  running  behind,  holding  on  to  her  skirts. 
Gaspard  said  to  one  of  the  children : 

"What  are  you  crying  for,  little  boy?" 

"We've  lost  Clementine." 

"Is  she  your  little  sister?  Well,  you'll  get  her 
back.  Can't  you  see  that  we're  going  to  it,  we,  the 
poilus?  .  .  .  And  then  the  Russians  are  coming  on 
the  other  side!" 

The  name  of  the  Russians  was  uttered  in  such  a 
warm  spirit  of  enthusiasm  that  the  child  stopped 
crying  immediately.  But  there  was  also  another 
reason,  for  Gaspard  had  taken  out  of  his  canvas  bag 
a  bit  of  chocolate  and  a  little  round  box. 

"Take  this,  kid.  This  is  pate  d'foie,  from  the  Rue 
d'la  Gaite.  My  old  woman  gave  it  to  me  and  told 
me  to  eat  it  only  after  I  had  been  wounded.  But 
stop  crying  or  you'll  hear  from  me !" 

He  had  to  run  to  catch  up  with  his  comrades,  but 
before  going  he  exclaimed : 

"Good-by,  my  little  man;  we'll  meet  again;  I'll 
bring  you  a  spike  helmet." 

While  running  along  the  road  he  kept  on  calling 
out  to  the  others : 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  67 

"Don't  worry,  friends,  our  day  will  come !  We're 
from  Paris!" 

Gripping  tightly  his  rifle  he  went  on  as  fast  as  he 
could  along  the  narrow  roads. 

The  men  kept  on  marching,  but  all  thought  of 
fatigue  had  disappeared ;  they  were  too  excited.  But 
in  one  respect  they  were  not  like  Gaspard,  for  not 
one  of  the  others  had  a  word  to  say.  The  scene 
before  them  was  too  tragic. 

In  front  of  a  small  group  of  cottages  dominating 
the  surrounding  country  and  from  where  an  entire 
district  could  be  seen  in  flames  three  women,  one  old 
and  two  young,  the  latter  probably  the  daughters 
of  the  first,  were  watching  the  flames  and  crying  with 
heartrending  sobs.  They  remained  at  the  same  spot, 
watching  the  destructive  work  created  by  the  enemy 
and  sobbing: 

"To-morrow  it  will  be  our  turn!  .  .  .  To-morrow 
.  .  .  Our  turn." 

They  were  leaning  against  the  front  wall  of  their 
cottage,  all  they  owned,  their  sole  property,  which 
was  about  to  be  destroyed  by  the  advancing  "bar- 
barians." 

It  was  evident  to  the  men  that  the  commanders 
did  not  dare  to  advance  directly  against  the  bar- 
barians. They  could  be  seen  directly  ahead,  a  very 
short  distance  away,  but  the  men  were  not  march- 
ing in  that  direction.  Why? 


68  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

Moreau  had  an  inspiration. 

"We're  going  to  try  a  flanking  attack." 

"Flanking?  .  .  .  You  make  me  laugh,"  said  Gas- 
pard,  highly  indignant.  "A  fine  way  to  make  an 
attack!" 

He  was  in  favor  of  being  frank  and  of  an  attack 
face  to  face,  but  his  consolation  was  from  the  Rus- 
sians. 

"I  suppose  they're  expecting  them  over  there." 

"Expecting  who?" 

"The  Cossacks!  We're  just  luring  them  on  un- 
til the  Cossacks — and  believe  me,  the  Cossacks  lose 
no  time;  I  saw  them  in  the  movies — they're  just 
waiting  until  the  Cossacks  come  along  and  hit  them 
in  the  back." 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Burette,  "because  for 
the  last  three  weeks  the  Russians  must  have  gone 
pretty  deep  into  Germany  and  in  that  case  how 
is  it  that  they  have  the  nerve  to  keep  on  invading 
our  country?" 

"It's  a  puzzle,"  said  Gaspard,  "enough  to  drive 
you  mad." 

Meanwhile  they  still  advanced,  the  men  dragging 
their  feet  and  half  of  them  limping. 

Now  that  the  road  was  again  free  and  there  was 
no  one  else  to  speak  to  than  each  other,  the  men 
were  again  beginning  to  feel  tired  and  worn  out. 
Their  necks  were  being  roasted  by  the  sun. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  69 

"Tell  the  men  to  unbutton  their  coats,"  said  the 
Colonel. 

Pinceloup  grumbled. 

"Coat  or  no  coat,  I'm  going  to  drop  down  into 
the  ditch  and  you  can  go  on  without  me." 

"Yes,  of  course,"  said  Gaspard.  "And  then  we'll 
bring  you  the  boches  all  ready  killed  and  you  can 
roast  them  to  suit  yourself !" 

"I'll  do  the  roasting  better  than  you,  believe  me. 
.  .  .  The  only  reason  I  want  to  quit  is  because  I've 
had  nothing  to  eat.  All  you  give  us  to  eat  is  just 
hot  water ;  it's  rotten !" 

Gaspard  turned  red  in  the  face. 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"I  said  that  if  you  didn't  hear  me  you  can  call  me 
up  on  the  phone." 

It  was  a  critical  minute  and  everyone  realized  it. 
The  time  had  come  to  choose  between  the  truth  and 
the  soup,  however  bad  it  might  be ;  but  there  was  no 
hesitation.  Twenty  furious  voices  were  raised: 

"I  like  your  nerve!  I  suppose  you'd  like  some 
quail  and  salmon!  And  what  next?  You  poor 
fool !" 

Gaspard  was  delighted.  He  was  the  cook,  the 
indispensable  man,  the  one  who  had  more  admirers 
and  flatterers  than  anyone  else;  the  only  one  whose 
merits  were  not  open  for  discussion,  because  discus- 
sion meant  fasting. 


70  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

Burette,  who  was  feeling  the  heat  more  than  any- 
one else  and  whose  face  was  blood  red,  murmured: 

"Talk  about  soup !  All  I  want  is  some  ice  cream. 
.  .  .  Just  think  of  the  delight  of  sitting  down  in 
a  cafe  and  ordering  ice  cream !" 

The  men's  feet  were  raising  clouds  of  dust  and 
the  soldiers'  hair  and  mustaches  were  gray. 

"We're  a  fine  looking  lot !  Good  time  to  get  mar- 
ried." 

One  by  one  a  number  of  men  were  dropping  out 
of  the  ranks  to  get  a  few  minutes'  rest  on  the  side 
of  the  road  and  in  the  rear  of  the  column,  between 
the  last  row  and  the  Major's  horse,  there  were  about 
fifty  stragglers,  limping  along  and  dragging  their 
sacks  and  bags  after  them.  Captain  Puche  was 
greatly  alarmed  to  find  out  that  there  were  ten  men 
from  his  company  among  these  stragglers.  The 
Colonel  had  just  told  him  that  a  distance  of  six  kilo- 
meters still  separated  them  from  a  village  far  from 
the  Germans,  where  they  would  spend  the  night. 
All  that  was  needed,  therefore,  was  to  encourage  the 
men  to  make  a  final  effort.  There  would  be  no  fight- 
ing before  the  next  day  and  it  was  therefore  safe 
to  promise  them  a  good  rest ;  the  only  trouble  was 
that  they  had  been  marching  for  about  thirty  hours, 
and  it  is  difficult  to  explain  to  men  who  are  not  fac- 
ing any  immediate  danger  that  any  special  effort 
or  energy  is  required. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  71 

It  was  necessary  to  discover  a  more  persuasive 
method  than  ordinary  speeches  and  good  luck  brought 
it  to  the  Captain  in  the  shape  of  a  barrel  of  wine 
which  a  farmer  who  was  fleeing  from  the  enemy  was 
carrying  in  a  peculiar  sort  of  vehicle  made  of  two 
cross  ladders. 

Puche  brought  his  company  to  a  halt  and  said  to 
the  man: 

"What  do  you  want  for  your  barrel?" 

"Well,"  said  the  other,  "it  all  depends.  What 
do  you  want  to  do  with  it?  It's  a  good  little  wine 
from  my  home  town.  If  I'm  taking  it  away  it's  be- 
cause I  don't  care  to  sell  it.  What  price  would  you 
give  ?" 

Puche  replied: 

"Be  reasonable ;  it's  for  soldiers." 

"Oh,  soldiers.  I  know  them ;  that's  all  we  see, 
soldiers.  A  barrel  of  120  litres  costs  70  francs." 

"Here  you  are,"  said  the  Captain.  Whereupon 
he  called  Gaspard,  who  came  running  along. 

"This  barrel  is  for  our  men.  We've  still  got  six 
kilometers  to  go  to-night.  I  hope  you  will  all  stand 
by  me." 

"Well,  I  should  hope  so,  Captain !  A  man  would 
have  to  be  pretty  mean  to  drop  out  after  this." 

"Well,  then,  go  to  it." 

Gaspard,  with  wide  open  eyes,  took  the  barrel  in 
his  arms  as  though  he  were  going  to  kiss  it;  he 


72  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

turned  it  around  and  after  opening  up  the  canvas 
pails  the  men  went  by  one  by  one.  They  even  came 
back  a  second  time,  for  there  was  enough  for  every- 
one. 

The  farmer  meanwhile  was  counting  his  notes, 
and  when  he  was  quite  sure  that  he  had  received  the 
correct  amount  he  put  the  money  in  his  pocket  and 
said: 

"With  all  that  I  have  nothing  left  to  drink." 

No  one  bothered  about  his  complaint.  The  wine 
was  excellent.  Pure  nectar  of  France,  it  went 
through  the  blood  of  these  poor  devils,  bringing  them 
back  to  life  and  restoring  their  good  humor.  A 
good  drink  of  wine  under  such  conditions  is  enough 
to  brace  up  anyone. 

After  the  barrel  had  been  emptied  these  250  sol- 
diers presented  really  a  glorious  appearance.  Alert 
and  wide  awake,  they  could  no  longer  feel  any  of 
their  sufferings.  With  eyes  afire  and  laughing 
mouths  they  looked  with  expressions  of  tender  grati- 
tude toward  the  simple  and  quiet  commander  who 
had  conceived  this  wonderful  fatherly  idea. 

Wine  of  France !  Beauty  and  vigor !  Of  a  group 
of  men  downhearted  and  discouraged,  weary  and 
worn  out,  it  will  make  a  happy,  nervy  company, 
marching  along  with  gay  and  happy  songs. 

Hardly  had  they  started  before  Gaspard  resumed 
his  joyous  refrain. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  73 

Burette  protested.  He  was  thinking  of  his  wife  and 
called  for  a  love  song. 

Gaspard  winked  his  eye  and  began  to  sing: 

"Mariez-vous  done!  mariez-vous  done! 
C'est  si  gentil,  c'est  si  bon! 
Pourquoi  raster  gargon? 

Allons,     .     .     . 
Mariez-vous  done!  " 

The  words  amused  the  men,  including  even  Pince- 
loup,  and  the  first  kilometers  were  passed  in  this 
one  outburst. 

During  the  third  Gaspard  changed  the  tune  and 
sang  the  good  old  song  of  the  man  who,  coming  out 
of  the  woods,  met  three  young  girls  who  were  all 
three  so  pretty  that  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind 
as  to  which  one  to  choose,  and  therefore  made  love 
to  them  all. 

Burette  had  recovered  all  his  enthusiasm  and  good 
humor  and  was  saying: 

"Ah,  love!  .  .  .  Love!  ...  A  man  is  a  fine  kind 
of  fool  to  go  out  and  fight  when  he  might  be  home 
making  love!" 

Two  kilometers  remained  to  be  covered  and  Gas- 
pard undertook  to  establish  beyond  a  doubt  the 
merits  of  the  wine  of  France  by  causing  the  men  to 
forget  their  fatigue. 

He  had  removed  his  necktie,  turned  up  his  sleeves 


74  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

and  placed  his  cap  on  the  top  of  his  rifle.  Covered 
with  dust  from  head  to  foot,  with  red  cheeks  and 
wideawake  eyes,  he  began  to  sing  a  ditty  concern- 
ing the  effects  of  spring  upon  all  young  and  pretty 
women,  which  had  been  one  of  the  big  song  successes 
of  the  year. 

"Quand  les  famines  sont  jolies, 
Quand  elles  vous  font  envie, 
C'est  I'effet  du  printemps." 

Bang!  .   .   .  Bang!     The    guns    were    off    again. 

"They  must  be  hearing  our  songs,"  said  Gaspard, 
and  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  thunder  of  the  guns 
he  went  on: 

"Quand  les  femmes  sont  jolies"   .   .   . 

The  wine  of  France  was  laughing  at  the  battle 
and  in  its  supreme  generosity  was  driving  from  the 
minds  of  these  men  all  the  sadness  of  life  or  the 
sorrows  of  destiny. 

After  the  wine  they  found  a  good  bed  of  straw, 
so  why  worry?  .  .  .  They  halted  in  a  small  village 
evacuated  by  the  inhabitants.  But  they  saw  noth- 
ing of  the  surrounding  drama;  little  attention  did 
they  pay  to  the  fact  that  these  poor  dilapidated 
houses  had  all  been  abandoned  by  the  inhabitants, 
who  had  fled  in  terror  from  the  homes  where  they 
were  born.  These  men  had  been  marching  thirty- 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  75 

two  hours.  The  extreme  fatigue  and  the  effects  of 
the  wine  were  beginning  to  tell  and  they  were 
glad  to  let  themselves  fall  upon  the  straw  with- 
out a  thought  for  anything  else  but  sleep,  just 
sleep. 

Gaspard,  however,  was  too  nervous  to  sleep ;  he 
was  unable  to  remain  in  one  spot.  After  trying  in 
vain  to  lie  down  he  went  out  to  get  a  breath  of  air. 
His  mind  was  confused;  he  was  thinking  suddenly 
of  death,  of  his  home,  of  his  son.  ...  A  strange 
noise  aroused  his  attention.  Long,  whining  cries 
were  issuing  from  the  backs  of  the  houses.  A 
thought  crossed  his  mind. 

"The  poor  brutes.  ...  I  suppose  the  men  thought 
only  of  saving  themselves  and  left  the  animals  be- 
hind to  starve  to  death." 

Without  the  slightest  hesitation  he  dashed  across 
the  road  and  visited  the  houses  one  by  one.  And 
this  man  of  the  people,  this  gay  and  carefree 
Parisian  then  showed  his  real  metal.  He  who 
had  never  handled  anything  but  snails  set  about 
at  once,  in  the  flittering  light  of  a  candle  dis- 
covered in  the  first  house  he  visited,  to  give  food 
to  the  poor  beasts,  who  after  all  were  just  as  French 
as  he  was. 

He  went  from  stable  to  stable  consoling  the  cows, 
who  were  moaning  for  food  and  drink.     He  talked 
to  them  as  he  was  wont  to  do  to  the  soldiers  of  his 
6 


76  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

regiment  and  went  at  his  work  with  the  same  enthusi- 
asm as  when  he  was  preparing  the  soup  he  had 
been  doing  so  many  hours.  When  able  to  find 
any  food  for  the  cattle  he  would  go  on  to  a 
neighboring  house  and  bring  whatever  he  had  dis- 
covered, talking  all  the  while  to  the  unfortunate 
animals. 

All  received  food  and  drink,  and  no  sooner  had  he 
visited  the  stable  than  the  moanings  were  silenced 
and  complete  quiet  restored.  He  slept  only  just 
about  one  hour,  but  he  was  happy  and  no  longer 
felt  any  trace  of  fatigue.  At  the  break  of  dawn, 
when  the  order  came  to  get  ready  and  the  men 
learned  that  they  were  going  to  march,  to  march  on 
as  they  had  been  doing  so  many  hours,  when  the  men 
were  ready  to  start,  Gaspard  came  around  with 
fresh  milk  which  he  had  just  obtained  after  a  visit 
to  his  mute  friends  in  the  stables.  The  men,  how- 
ever, had  no  use  for  the  milk  and  called  for  white 
wine  instead.  Gaspard  took  all  their  remarks  quietly 
and  assumed  only  an  air  of  supreme  contempt.  He 
knew  that  he  had  done  a  good  and  charitable  work 
in  milking  the  cows  and  cared  little  about  what  be- 
came of  the  milk. 

The  houses  which  the  men  were  now  leaving  were 
situated  at  the  top  of  a  hill  and  on  their  way  down 
to  a  cornfield  the  men  were  under  the  impression  that 
they  were  going  straight  into  the  arms  of  the  enemy. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  77 

Gaspard  noticed  with  great  satisfaction  that  there 
were  no  more  moanings  coming  from  the  stables,  and 
said  to  himself  as  he  was  marching  away : 

"Now  the  poor  brutes  may  be  able  to  await  the 
arrival  of  the  Russians." 


III. 

THE  regiment  was  going  through  a  long  stretch 
of  cultivated  land  without  a  tree,  the  corn 
and  wheat  fields  separated  by  a  stone  cross. 
This  is  the  most  prosperous  and  at  the  same  time 
the  most  religious  part  of  Lorraine,  a  beautiful 
country  where  the  horizon  is  so  straight  and  the  color 
so  uniform  that  even  in  the  full  morning  light  one 
receives  a  strong  impression  of  melancholy.  A  black 
dog  was  following  the  soldiers  in  the  hope  of  picking 
up  something  to  eat.  Meanwhile  the  roar  of  the 
cannon  was  still  going  on  and  the  men  looked  almost 
as  worried  as  the  dog. 

After  one  hour  of  marching  a  halt  was  called 
and  the  men  had  a  bite  to  eat.  Only  the  Twenty- 
fourth  Company  was  ordered  to  continue  the  march 
and  to  encamp  two  kilometers  away  at  the  outposts. 

"No  wonder!"  said  Moreau.  "The  Twenty- 
fourth  is  always  the  chosen  one !" 

Gaspard  refused  to  worry  and  began  a  song  at 
the  top  of  his  voice.  Captain  Puche,  however,  or- 
dered silence,  as  the  Uhlans  had  been  reported  near 
by.  He  gave  the  order  quietly,  while  stroking  the 

78 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  79 

neck  of  his  horse,  which  was  still  dancing  on  his 
hind  legs.  It  was  in  exactly  the  same  tone  of  voice 
that  he  announced  that  "prisoners  had  been  captured 
whose  morale  was  bad,  inasmuch  as  they  had  had 
nothing  to  eat." 

"Best  of  all,"  he  added,  "their  shells  are  not  ex- 
ploding," and  he  went  on  stroking  his  horse,  calling 
it  by  its  pet  name  Cocotte. 

"Well,  then,  we're  going  to  have  some  fun,"  said 
Gaspard. 

"We  are  going  to  watch  the  approach  to  a  small 
wood,"  continued  the  Captain.  "German  patrols  are 
probably  moving  around  there.  We  will  have  to 
keep  our  eyes  open." 

"That's  my  job,"  said  Gaspard.  "At  the  Halles 
we  also  have  to  keep  our  eyes  open !" 

This  was  considered  as  an  offer  to  volunteer,  so 
when  the  edge  of  the  wood  was  reached  Gaspard 
was  sent  out  as  first  sentinel  in  the  company  of 
Burette.  They  went  out  laughingly,  juggling  with 
their  rifles.  Pinceloup  watched  them  start  and  gave 
vent  to  a  fear: 

"Something  may  happen  to  them." 

They  posted  themselves  among  the  trees,  two 
steps  from  a  road  coming  out  of  the  wood  which 
divided  the  plain  into  two  parts. 

"The  first  one  I  see,"  said  Gaspard,  "I'll  finish  and 
I  will  cross-examine  him  later." 


80  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"Well,  we'll  see,"  replied  Burette.  "Better  be 
careful." 

"Quiet.  Listen.  I  think  I  heard.  Well,  as  to 
me,  I'm  not  going  to  miss  them.  At  target  practice 
at  Chalons  I  was  right  there  when  it  came  to  hitting 
the  bullseye.  Be  quiet.  Listen." 

"Why,  you're  the  one  who's  doing  all  the  talking." 

"Be  quiet,  I  tell  you.     I  hear  something  moving." 

"It's  a  rabbit." 

"It's  coming  nearer." 

"Two  rabbits." 

"Fool!     How  many  bullets  have  you  got?" 

"Ninety." 

"Gee,  what  a  fool!  How  many  bullets  have  you 
got  in  your  rifle?" 

"Eight." 

"Eight  and  eight  are  sixteen.  Good!  Sixteen 
bullets  for  the  first  one  we  see.  Be  quiet.  It's  prob- 
ably a  cavalryman.  Now,  pal,  I'm  going  to  aim 
for  the  first  shot." 

"Don't  be  a  fool." 

"Oh,  look  here!" 

"What?" 

"A  woman!" 

"Sure?     Call  her." 

"Don't  move.     Can  you  see  her?     Is  she  pretty?" 

"You  bet!" 

"But  she  might  be  a  boche." 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  81 

"You  poor  fool!     Eh,  mademoiselle!" 

"Come  here,  sweet  stranger,  child  of  my  heart." 

"Where  are  you  going,  mademoiselle?" 

They  came  out  from  the  shelter  of  their  trees  and 
emerged  on  the  road,  where  they  saw  a  young  wom- 
an, possibly  a  young  girl,  with  a  sweet  face,  who 
seemed  amazed  at  the  sight  of  the  soldiers.  She 
said: 

"Soldiers!  Will  you  give  me  some  information, 
gentlemen  ?" 

They  replied  together: 

"At  your  service,  mademoiselle.  That's  what 
we're  here  for." 

She  tried  to  speak,  but  had  been  running  too 
fast  and  had  almost  lost  her  breath. 

Both  looked  at  her  and  both  were  impressed  by 
her  attractive  features.  She  was  extremely  pretty 
and  the  men  felt  deeply  moved  at  being  so  close  to 
such  an  attractive  person  after  all  the  hardships 
they  had  gone  through.  She  looked  at  them  with 
her  great  blue  eyes,  but  without  the  slightest  alarm. 

Burette  was  twisting  his  mustache  when  Gaspard, 
less  bashful,  stepped  forward. 

"Where  do  you  come  from,  mademoiselle?"  said 
Burette. 

"And  where  are  you  going?"  added  Gaspard. 
"Remain  here  with  us.  You  can  do  our  cooking. 
It's  a  pretty  good  thing  for  you  that  I  am  married." 


82  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

She  laughed  and  turned  her  eyes  away.  She  was 
prettily  dressed  in  a  light  summer  frock,  with  bare 
arms  and  neck. 

Gaspard  placed  his  rifle  against  a  tree,  while  the 
girl  said  with  a  smile: 

"I  was  with  my  mother  down  there;  she  isn't 
afraid;  she  says  she  knows  them,  that  she  saw  them 
in  1870,  but  I  said,  'No,  thanks,  I'm  going  away.' 
My  mother  is  well  taken  care  of;  she  is  living  at  the 
Mayor's  house.  They  won't  do  her  any  harm.  And 
then  .  .  .  she  is  pretty  old  ..." 

Again  she  turned  away  from  the  men. 

"Yes,"  replied  Burette,  "whereas  with  you  they 
might  have  been  different.  ..." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  exclaimed  Gas- 
pard. "Are  you  mad?  A  pretty  little  girl  like  this 
for  the  boches?  Why  don't  you  talk  sense?" 

"Well,  you  never  can  tell." 

"Just  let  them  come,  let  them  touch  her !  For  the 
boche!  .  .  .  I'd  rather  give  oysters  to  my  janitor's 
cat." 

The  girl  was  greatly  amused  at  this  dialogue. 
She  said: 

"Well,  gentlemen  .  .  .  I'm  going  to  try  to  reach 
Verdun.  ...  Is  this  the  right  way?  .  .  .  Well,  good 
luck  ...  if  you  get  into  the  fighting  ..." 

"But  ..."  exclaimed  Gaspard,  "you're  not  go- 
ing to  go  away  without  giving  us  a  kiss!" 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  83 

"Gentlemen,  I  am  in  a  hurry." 

"It  won't  take  you  long  to  give  a  kiss !" 

"I  must  reach  my  destination  before  to-night  as 
I  only  have  the  password  for  the  day  guards.  .  .  . 
You  two  have  such  good  faces  that  I  didn't  bother 
about  it.  But  if  I  find  any  sentinel  giving  me  ugly 
looks  I'll  lose  no  time  in  saying,  'Turenne !'  * 

"Turenne?  Why,  it  isn't  Turenne  to-day,"  said 
both  soldiers  together. 

"It  isn't  Turenne?" 

"No,  it's  Marceau." 

"Marceau?  ..." 

She  looked  them  straight  in  the  face  as  though 
afraid  that  they  were  trying  to  fool  her.  Meanwhile 
Gaspard  put  his  arms  around  her  suddenly  and  gave 
her  a  big  kiss  on  the  cheek,  adding: 

"Why,  yes,  it's  Marceau!" 

"Well,  then,  give  me  the  other  cheek!"  said  Bur- 
ette. 

He  seized  her  by  the  waist,  but  she  escaped,  laugh- 
ing, calling  out  "Au  revoir"  as  she  ran  along.  They 
remained  there,  looking  foolish. 

"Gee,  she  was  pretty !  .  .  . " 

"Pretty!  .  .  .  Well,  you  bet!" 

"What  a  beauty !" 

Two  men  came  up  to  relieve  them,  to  whom  they 
said: 

"Open  your  eyes,  pals.     There  are  some  mighty 


84  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

pretty  girls  going  through  here.  ...  If  you'd  only 
seen  the  beauty  we've  just  been  talking  with.  ..." 

They  went  back  to  the  other  men  in  a  jovial  mood. 

Their  comrades  were  fast  asleep  and  they  followed 
this  example.  Soon,  however,  the  sergeant  called 
them. 

"Eh,  you  .  .  .  the  Captain  wants  you." 

"The  Captain?  .  .  .  He  gives  me  a  pain.  .  .  . 
What  does  he  want?" 

"It  seems  there  is  a  story  of  a  spy,  a  woman  they 
have  just  caught.  Didn't  you  two  see  a  woman? 
.  .  .  They  say  she  was  pretty,  and  I  hear  she  was 
hiding  two  homing  pigeons  in  her  waist.  It  didn't 
show  a  bit;  she  only  seemed  to  have  a  pretty  fig- 
ure." 

The  sergeant  was  nervous.  This  first  story  of  the 
war  had  excited  his  imagination,  and  the  two  others, 
who  were  rubbing  their  eyes,  were  listening  to  him 
with  a  stupefied  look  on  their  faces.  Gaspard  said: 

"But  .  .  .  what  did  she  look  like?" 

"I  don't  know.     I  didn't  see  her.     Did  you?" 

The  two  men  stood  up.  Then  Gaspard  with  both 
hands  in  his  pockets  replied  in  his  most  natural  voice : 

"My,  that's  a  funny  story!  .  .  .  What  does  it  all 
mean  ?" 

"Believe  me,  it's  no  story,"  said  the  sergeant. 
"She  even  knew  the  password  Marceau.  ...  It 
surely  is  the  limit.  .  .  .  And  when  she  was  arrested 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  85 

she  opened  her  shirtwaist  and  the  two  pigeons  flew 
out  together." 

The  two  soldiers  kept  staring  at  him  with  big 
eyes.  The  sergeant  grew  angry. 

"You  make  me  tired !  You  don't  even  understand 
what  has  been  explained  to  you.  Go  on  back  to 
sleep.  I'll  tell  the  Captain  that  you  are  two  fools !" 

He  went  away  and  the  two  men  went  back  to  the 
ditch  in  which  they  had  been  lying.  After  getting 
as  close  together  as  possible  Burette  said  in  a  mur- 
mur: 

"Say  .   .  .  it's  terrible.  .  .  .  What  a  story!  .  .   ." 

Gaspard,  who  was  both  frightened  and  disgusted, 
replied : 

"It's  enough  to  make  any  one  sick !  .  .  .  We'll  be 
pretty  lucky  if  we  get  out  of  it  like  this.  ...  If  this 
is  war,  good  night!" 

After  a  few  minutes  he  added: 

"That  sure  is  the  limit.  .  .  .  And  such  a  pretty 
little  woman,  too!  ...  A  fine  kind  of  a  specimen. 
.  .  .  And  pigeons!  .  .  .  What  do  you  know  about 
that!  .  .  .  And  we  poor  fools  thought  she  had  such 
a  beautiful  figure!" 

The  gods  were  good  to  Gaspard,  for  the  after- 
noon went  by  without  any  further  call  for  explana- 
tion from  the  Captain.  At  nightfall  there  were 
other  things  to  worry  about,  for  the  gunfire  was  get- 
ting closer  and  closer. 


86  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

The  greater  part  of  the  regiment  was  now  at  the 
outpost  and  it  was  rumored  that  the  men  were  go- 
ing to  advance  still  further ;  it  appeared  that  a  battle 
had  been  fought  and  that  a  General  was  calling  for 
fresh  troops,  and  the  men's  imaginations  were  work- 
ing overtime  in  an  effort  to  picture  to  themselves  the 
scene  of  a  battle,  with  its  terrific  dangers  and  its 
dead. 

Suddenly,  just  as  they  were  finishing  a  bad  soup 
prepared  by  Gaspard,  there  came  before  their  eyes 
a  vision  which  was  enough  to  brighten  every  heart. 
A  handful  of  mounted  Chasseurs  came  from  the  very 
midst  of  the  distant  firing  line,  where  they  had 
had  a  hot  encounter  with  the  Uhlans.  Barely 
200  in  number,  they  had  cut  down  1,500  of  the 
enemy.  They  were  about  thirty  when  they  returned, 
but  they  presented  indeed  a  wonderful,  stirring 
sight ! 

Their  horses,  covered  with  dust  and  blood,  came 
charging  along  as  though  they  knew  what  had  hap- 
pened and  were  proud  of  their  riders.  They  dashed 
by  in  a  wild  rush,  while  their  riders,  without  caps 
and  their  hair  flying  to  the  wind,  laughed,  shouted 
and  screamed.  They  brought  with  them  trium- 
phantly three  riderless  mounts,  which  excited  great 
interest  among  the  infantrymen. 

"Uhlan's  horses?" 

"You  bet  they  are,  and  no  mistake!" 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  87 

The  infantrymen  opened  their  eyes  and  their 
mouths,  and  Gaspard  exclaimed: 

"You  bet  they're  German.     Look  at  their  mugs !" 

All  the  men  agreed  that  the  horses  did  look  ugly, 
not  on  account  of  their  saddles  or  bridles,  but  be- 
cause they  looked  like  real  German,  real  Boches. 

Still  this  was  only  the  first  beginning  of  the  war. 
The  Chasseurs  were  merely  a  warning  that  the  enemy 
was  near  by,  but  the  regiment  was  soon  to  meet  him. 

It  was  an  unpleasant  night,  dull  and  heavy,  with 
a  storm  threatening.  The  sun  had  disappeared  be- 
hind reddish  gray  clouds  and  the  air  was  oppressive. 
The  men  had  nothing  to  say,  but  remained  with  eyes 
and  ears  open,  frightened  and  worried.  Toward  11 
o'clock  in  a  pitch  dark  night  the  march  was  resumed. 
From  time  to  time  a  stroke  of  lightning  illuminated 
the  sky,  lending  an  even  more  tragic  look  to  the 
stupendously  dramatic  situation. 

The  noise  made  by  the  iron  shod  boots  of  the 
soldiers  was  all  that  could  be  heard  as  the  men 
marched  along  like  a  crowd  of  shadows.  The  effect 
was  formidable  and  terrifying. 

Suddenly,  brutally,  the  horizon  became  red  and 
the  men  exclaimed: 

"The  swine  are  setting  fire  again!"  Five  seconds 
later,  without  the  slightest  warning,  the  regiment 
found  itself  face  to  face  with  another  body  of  troops, 
several  thousand  active  soldiers  who  were  coming 


88  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

back  from  the  battle  line.  Their  condition  was  piti- 
ful. This  time  the  war  was  brought  right  home  to 
the  men.  They  realized  that  they  were  no  longer  on 
their  way  to  the  front,  but  that  they  were  actually 
there,  right  in  the  midst  of  war  with  all  its  terrors 
and  its  horrors. 

For  these  men  they  had  just  met  were  no  longer 
an  army,  but  just  a  crowd  of  suffering  human  be- 
ings, wounded,  exhausted,  limping  and  dragging 
themselves  along,  with  blood  spotted  bandages  around 
their  limbs  or  their  heads.  Some  were  piled  up  on 
carts  with  creaking  wheels.  Others  came  along  in 
closely  formed  groups  as  though  they  were  holding 
each  other  up.  Their  first  question  upon  meeting 
the  men  who  were  going  to  take  their  places  at  the 
front  was:  How  far  away  was  the  nearest  vil- 
lage? 

Gaspard  replied: 

"You'll  be  there  in  a  minute.     Don't  worry." 

He  questioned  the  men  one  by  one. 

"Where  do  you  come  from?  Where  have  you 
been?  Why  are  you  so  worn  out?" 

The  others  in  pitiful  accents  replied: 

"We  were  twice  as  many  when  we  went  out.  We 
got  it  good  and  hard.  Avenge  us,  boys !" 

Moreau,  discouraged,  said: 

"Well,  are  we  lost?" 

"You   idiot!"   exclaimed  Gaspard.      "Didn't  you 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  89 

hear  what  the  Captain  said?  Their  shells  are  not 
exploding !" 

"No,  I  didn't ;  let's  ask  them." 

He  called  out  to  the  returning  troops: 

"Hey,  pals,  are  their  shells  exploding?" 

But  there  was  no  reply.  All  that  could  be  heard 
from  the  passing  men  was  the  same  question: 

"Where  is  the  nearest  village?" 

Romarin,  the  young  barber's  assistant,  encour- 
aged his  comrades,  saying: 

"We'll  get  them !" 

Meanwhile  Captain  Puche,  whose  horse  was  fright- 
ened, continued  to  stroke  his  neck,  showing  not  the 
slightest  sign  of  alarm. 

What  proved  most  discouraging  to  the  men  was 
the  fact  that  these  wounded,  the  first  sinister  victims 
of  the  battle,  kept  on  coming  along  from  everywhere, 
crowding  the  fields  and  the  roads.  The  men  had 
never  felt  so  depressed,  and  for  the  first  time  the 
weight  of  the  equipment  seemed  enormous  to  every 
man  in  the  ranks.  They  felt  their  hearts  weakening, 
their  spirits  gone,  their  souls  bursting.  On  they 
went  without  a  stop,  without  a  rest,  with  nothing 
to  eat  but  the  loaf  of  bread  in  their  canvas  bags. 
The  sergeant  overheard  a  remark. 

"It's  pretty  bad  to  have  to  put  up  with  this  kind 
of  food." 

"What's  bad  is  to  have  to  listen  to  such  fool  talk." 


90  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

After  a  few  minutes'  silence  the  men  turned  against 
Gaspard,  agreeing  with  Pinceloup  that  his  cooking 
was  no  good.  Sharp  remarks  were  passed,  several 
men  declaring  they  were  sick  and  tired  of  the  hot 
water  which  Gaspard  was  serving  to  them  as  soup, 
but  there  was  no  reply  from  the  cook,  who  seemed  to 
remain  indifferent  to  the  attack.  A  period  of  silence 
followed,  during  which  a  pair  of  jaws  could  be  heard 
in  action. 

"Who's  eating?"  some  one  called  out. 

"I  am,"  said  a  soldier  named  Courbecave.  "I  am 
finishing  my  bread.  It's  a  darn  sight  better  than  the 
soup." 

Gaspard  had  not  a  word  to  say,  but  he  understood 
that  after  this  nocturnal  outburst — the  only  time  in 
which  the  men  would  have  had  the  courage  to  attack 
their  cook — he  would  never  have  the  heart  to  boil 
water  and  peel  onions.  Half  of  his  power  had  sud- 
denly collapsed. 

Too  tired  or  too  proud  to  exhibit  his  anger  in 
front  of  the  others  he  confided  his  feelings  only  to 
Burette,  for  whom  his  friendship  was  ever  growing. 
Burette  was  a  pal  who  "knew  how  to  talk,  had  a  lot 
of  instruction  and  didn't  put  on  any  airs."  When 
Gaspard  thought  of  his  friendship  for  Burette  he 
forgot  all  about  everyone  else  in  the  regiment,  in- 
cluding even  Moreau.  No  one  else  was  of  any  ac- 
count. Speaking  to  Burette  he  said: 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  91 

"They're  a  fine  lot  of  ungrateful  brutes!  .  .  . 
I've  worked  like  a  slave  for  them.  Why,  only  yes- 
terday they  were  all  flattering  me.  But  now  that 
they  begin  to  see  the  danger  they  all  turn  against 
me.  I  tell  you  they're  a  lot  of  brutes !  But  don't 
worry;  if  they  have  no  one  but  me  to  cook  their 
meals  they  won't  have  a  chance  to  eat  too  much.  .  .  . 
See,  now,  we're  going  on.  Fine!  We're  going  to 
fight.  I'm  for  it.  Half  of  them  will  be  killed. 
Great!" 

It  was  Burette's  turn  to  laugh. 

"You  can  do  the  cooking  for  the  two  of  us.  Begin- 
ning to-day  you  will  be  my  cook,  but  you  will  have 
to  live  up  to  it.  For  to-day  I  would  like  a  vol-au- 
vent  with  a  bottle  of  Bordeaux  wine." 

"Oh,  don't  get  funny." 

"I  would  like  a  good  little  lively  wine." 

"It  would  be  all  right  if  we  just  had  to  go  along 
with  our  hands  in  our  pockets  and  nothing  to  worry 
about  .  .  .  but  what  do  we  look  like?  .  .  .  Less  than 
nothing — cannon  flesh,  that's  all.  .  .  .  And  only 
three  months  ago  we  were  electing  Members  of 
Parliament !" 

Dawn  was  breaking  and  the  men  were  beginning 
to  be  able  to  see  each  other.  All  of  a  sudden  in  the 
light  of  the  gray  morning  the  regiment  realized 
that  they  were  no  longer  alone  on  their  march. 
Along  a  parallel  road  with  long  lines  of  trees  on  each 
7 


92  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

side  other  bodies  of  troops  could  be  seen  advancing 
in  the  same  direction. 

In  the  morning  no  more  wounded  were  to  be  seen. 
The  rising  sun  was  directly  in  front  of  the  men. 
They  were  marching  toward  the  east  and  seemed  to 
be  leaving  the  black  night  behind  them,  together  with 
the  distressing  convoys  of  wounded.  The  men  were 
breathing  more  freely.  They  felt  stronger  and  more 
determined.  They  knew  they  were  going  to  their 
destiny,  but  it  seemed  this  morning  rather  more  like 
victory  than  disaster. 

The  hearts  of  the  bravest,  however,  were  to  be 
subjected  to  another  test  almost  immediately,  for  the 
regiment  turned  suddenly  into  a  large  field  situated 
between  two  woods,  where  200  Frenchmen  three  days 
before  had  been  caught  and  mowed  down  to  the  last 
man  by  a  division  of  Uhlans  who  had  dashed  into 
them  with  their  lances  and  revolvers.  The  French- 
men had  tried  their  best  to  defend  themselves ;  they 
had  fought  valiantly  and  had  sought  shelter  in  vain, 
and  the  traces  of  their  terrific  struggle  could  be  seen 
on  all  sides.  They  had  built  impromptu  breast- 
works and  fought  until  the  last  bullet  was  exhausted 
and  had  been  killed  one  by  one. 

This  field,  torn  to  pieces  by  feverish  hands,  by 
men  clinging  to  the  earth  as  a  drowning  man  will 
hang  on  to  a  straw;  this  field  was  the  living  image 
of  200  men  who  had  died  in  a  desperate  attempt 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  93 

to  protect  the  first  corner  of  France  against  the 
invader.  Of  their  heroic  effort  there  was  nothing 
left  but  this  torn  up  field;  they  themselves  had  dis- 
appeared, buried  under  the  soft  soil  in  order  to 
make  room  for  those  still  alive  who  were  to  follow 
the  wonderful  example  they  had  set. 

Here  the  regiment  realized  in  the  most  dramatic 
manner  the  full  extent  of  the  tragedy  of  war.  A 
chill,  almost  a  shiver,  ran  through  these  2,000  men 
and  the  entire  column  stepped  suddenly  out  of  the 
way  as  a  supreme  tribute  to  the  men  buried  in  these 
anonymous  graves  over  which  not  one  of  those  still 
alive  would  have  been  willing  to  pass. 

The  guns  were  getting  closer  and  closer  and 
heaven  and  earth  were  trembling.  After  passing  the 
field  where  the  200  had  died  the  regiment  went 
through  a  small  wood  and  suddenly  came  face  to 
face  with  the  battery  of  75s.  No  shot  was  being 
fired  from  them;  the  men  were  waiting  and  watch- 
ing. 

"The  battlefield  at  last!"  said  Gaspard.  Captain 
Puche,  who  was  consulting  his  map,  called  a  halt 
and  replied  quietly: 

"Yes,  here  we  are." 

But  the  regiment  went  on.  They  advanced  a  few 
hundred  meters  so  as  not  to  be  in  the  way  of  the 
artillery.  The  men  sought  shelter  behind  huge  piles 
of  red  building  stones. 


94  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"All  we  have  to  do  now,"  said  the  Captain,  "is 
to  wait  .  .  .  and  watch." 

He  was  still  smiling  and  his  little  round  eyes  were 
shining,  eagerly  awaiting  what  was  going  to  hap- 
pen. Two  men  assisted  him  to  the  top  of  one  of 
the  stone  heaps,  where  he  sat  down,  opened  his  map 
and  raised  his  field  glasses  to  his  eyes  with  a  satis- 
fied smile  indicating  his  delight  at  the  prospect  of 
seeing  at  last  that  for  which  he  had  been  waiting 
for  many  years.  From  the  top  of  his  observation 
post  he  lined  up  the  men,  permitted  them  to  take  off 
their  haversacks  and  ordered  the  soup  to  be  made. 

All  eyes  were  turned  immediately  toward  Cour- 
becave,  who  had  declared  that  he  would  rather  eat 
bread.  Gaspard  turned  away,  whistling  a  tune. 

Courbecave  was  a  bricklayer  from  Versailles,  con- 
scientious and  attentive,  who  had  from  the  start 
realized  the  shortcomings  of  the  cook  and  had  always 
envied  him  his  honorable,  although  perilous,  posi- 
tion. He  was  prompted  by  pride.  He  had  already 
confided  to  two  or  three  of  the  men : 

"I  know  how  to  fry  potatoes  .  .  .  and  some  pota- 
toes !  When  I  cook  a  piece  of  meat  I  don't  spoil  it." 

He  had  nothing  but  meat  at  his  disposal  and  no 
potatoes.  He  emptied  into  the  boiling  pot  all  that 
was  left  in  his  canvas  bag,  including  some  carrots, 
three  onions  and  a  few  bits  of  chocolate.  One  of 
the  other  men,  on  going  through  his  pockets,  found 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  95 

two  potatoes  half  squashed,  which  he  added  to  the 
mess,  and  Courbecave  finally  put  into  the  pot  two 
or  three  pounds  of  soldier's  bread. 

"I'm  going  to  make  you  a  real  soup  which  will 
make  your  mouths  water." 

The  men  began  at  once  to  sing  his  praise  without 
regard  to  Gaspard,  who  pretended  to  be  asleep. 

"Talk  about  cooking!  Now  we're  going  to  have 
the  real  goods !" 

One  of  the  most  enthusiastic  flatterers  of  the  new 
cook  went  even  so  far  as  to  add: 

"We'll  ask  the  Captain  to  taste  it." 

They  called  the  Captain.  From  the  top  of  his 
stone  heap  he  called  out: 

"Why,  it's  a  treat  just  to  look  at.  But  beware! 
If  the  Bodies  see  it  through  their  glasses !  .  .  ." 

Every  one  laughed.  The  little  cook  raised  his 
head  full  of  pride.  And  no  one  was  afraid,  although 
the  shells  were  coming  closer.  Captain  Puche  could 
see  them  from  his  observation  post  and  was  thus 
getting  his  first  vision  of  shell  fire  before  being  sub- 
jected to  it  himself.  But  he  was  not  in  the  least 
surprised  and  maintained  the  same  calm,  undismayed 
attitude  which  he  had  assumed  ever  since  the  begin- 
ning. He  was  looking  ahead  with  his  small  eyes, 
where  no  trace  of  alarm  could  be  seen,  and  a  smile 
on  his  lips,  through  which  no  cry  of  fright  or  terror 
was  ever  to  pass.  Straight  ahead,  only  one  kilo- 


96  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

meter  away,  he  could  see  the  great  white  clouds  of 
smoke  from  the  German  shells,  and  although  he  re- 
mained quite  serious,  his  seriousness  was  not  caused 
by  any  feeling  of  fright,  but  merely  by  the  deter- 
mination of  a  loyal  chief  to  do  his  duty.  In  a  quiet 
voice,  so  as  not  to  frighten  the  men,  he  said: 

"Hurry  up,  boys,  if  you  want  to  finish  your  meal 
before  beginning  the  fighting." 

It  was  true  that  from  one  minute  to  another  the 
order  to  move  on  might  come.  The  enemy  was  in- 
creasing his  fire  and  Puche  could  see  through  his 
glasses  French  regiments  who  were  already  advanc- 
ing under  the  attack. 

It  was  his  duty  to  await  with  his  company  the 
call  for  reenforcements. 

With  their  rifles  between  their  legs  the  men  were 
seated  along  the  side  of  the  road,  while  on  the  other 
side  the  little  bricklayer,  all  alone,  was  prepar- 
ing the  soup,  which  he  was  stirring  with  a  piece  of 
wood. 

The  care  with  which  he  went  about  his  work  was 
immense.  He  seemed  to  put  all  his  soul  into  the 
preparation  of  this  meal  under  the  eyes  of  his  com- 
rades. These  soldiers,  ready  to  fight,  had  no  thought 
as  to  whether  or  not  they  would  be  killed.  Their 
main  source  of  worry  was  whether  they  would  have 
time  to  eat  first.  Every  once  in  a  while  some  one 
would  call  out  to  the  cook,  "How  goes  it?"  and  the 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  97; 

cook  would  reply,  "Fine!  it's  beginning  to  look 
good." 

He  went  about  his  work  as  if  he  had  been  making 
bricks ;  he  wanted  the  soup  to  be  thick  and  nourish- 
ing. 

But  while  they  were  admiring  him  with  all  the 
strength  of  human  egotism  it  came  to  pass  that  this 
handful  of  Frenchmen,  even  before  they  had  time 
to  think  of  it,  received  their  first  baptism  of  fire  in 
the  most  unexpected  and  the  most  horrible  manner. 
Gaspard,  who  had  actually  fallen  asleep,  awoke  sud- 
denly. He  was  saying,  "Are  we  soon  going  to  get 
after  the  Boches?"  when  suddenly  the  sky  seemed  to 
be  torn  apart  by  that  queer  whistling  noise  which 
several  generations  will  remember  all  their  lives.  A 
shell  came  along,  the  first  of  many  to  follow.  A 
shell  came,  landed,  roared  and  exploded  .  .  .  the  lit- 
tle cook  was  wiped  off  the  surface  of  the  earth. 

The  company  remained  silent,  terrified,  horrified. 
Some  of  the  men  had  thrown  themselves  face  down 
in  the  mud  and  remained  there,  hiding  their  eyes  in 
the  ditch.  .  .  .  Slowly  they  looked  up,  one  by  one; 
they  watched  the  smoke  of  the  death-dealing  missile 
slowly  drifting  away;  and  their  terrified  eyes  could 
see  nothing  but  bits  of  human  flesh  at  the  spot  where 
their  cook  had  stood.  The  scene  was  so  horrible 
that  Gaspard  was  trembling  all  over. 

And  then  ...  as  no  other  shell  came  along  and 


98  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

the  silence  was  restored  to  such  an  extent  that  a 
bird  could  be  heard  singing ;  and  as  the  hunger  still 
remained  and  the  big  boiling  pot,  thanks  to  some 
freak  of  luck,  was  intact,  still  sending  skyward  an 
appetizing  cloud,  the  Captain,  in  a  low  voice,  or- 
dered that  the  pot  be  removed  and  carried  100  meters 
away. 

In  the  soup  they  found  three  bits  of  iron  and  a 
soldier's  button,  which  they  showed  to  each  other 
without  a  word  of  comment.  Gaspard,  with  tears  in 
his  eyes,  fished  out  with  his  spoon  a  little  black  rib- 
bon from  which  was  suspended  one  of  the  small 
identification  medals  worn  by  the  soldiers  of  France. 
It  bore  the  inscription,  "Courbecave,  1905."  Poor 
devil,  so  proud  of  his  cooking;  in  his  death  he  had 
left  his  mark  in  his  first  and  last  soup. 

Puche,  by  this  time,  had  stepped  down  from  his 
stone  heap.  He  came  slowly  toward  the  men.  Gas- 
pard, whose  heart  was  bursting  with  anger,  ex- 
claimed in  an  ugly  tone  of  voice: 

"Captain,  why  did  they  tell  us  that  their  shells 
did  not  explode?  Why  did  they  tell  us  that?" 

"Gaspard,"  replied  the  Captain,  "this  is  no  longer 
the  time  to  ask  why."  (Another  shell  exploded  with 
a  terrific  report  only  fifty  meters  away.)  "We 
haven't  even  the  time  to  eat.  Turn  the  pot  over." 

"Turn  it  over?" 

"Yes." 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  99 

From  the  manner  in  which  the  last  word  was 
spoken  it  was  clear  that  the  decision  at  which  Puche 
had  arrived  was  irrevocable.  Gaspard  hesitated  only 
a  second  and  then  upset  the  pot,  but  not  before  hav- 
ing rescued  a  large  hunk  of  steaming  beef,  which 
he  placed  in  his  canvas  bag. 

"Pick  up  your  arms,  my  boys,"  said  the  Captain, 
"and  form  fours." 

The  men  obeyed  the  order  in  a  deathlike  silence. 
The  Captain,  however,  remained  just  as  calm.  Just 
at  that  moment  he  was  endeavoring  to  remove  with 
his  finger  nail  a  small  spot  on  the  sleeve  of  his  tunic. 

"Form  fours,"  he  said,  "and  in  good  order." 

Pinceloup  grumbled: 

"We're  going  to  be  killed  here.  Why  don't  we 
move?" 

Gaspard  replied  in  a  tone  of  supreme  contempt: 

"Don't  cry,  baby,  we'll  take  you  back  to  your 
mother." 

"Come  on,"  said  the  Captain.     "Line  up." 

Even  the  bravest  felt  a  shiver  pass  through  his 
body  and  a  feeling  of  revolt  in  his  heart.  It  seemed 
horrible  at  such  a  time — another  shell  had  just  ex- 
ploded twenty-five  meters  away — to  attach  any  im- 
portance to  foolish  details. 

"Attention!  .  .  .  Parade  rest!  .  .  .  Atten- 
tion! .  .  ." 

The  men  obeyed,  scandalized. 


100  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

In  no  uncertain  voice  the  Captain  continued: 

"Shoulder  arms !" 

He  repeated  the  same  order  three  times  over. 

Even  Gaspard,  failing  to  understand,  was  dis- 
gusted. Burette,  terrorized,  was  looking  at  the  blue 
sky,  which  seemed  greater  than  ever.  His  heart  was 
beating  quickly.  He  was  begging  to  live  through 
what  seemed  to  be  an  astounding  nightmare.  He 
listened  to  the  shells  coming  along  and  was  saying 
to  himself:  "Are  we  going  to  die?  .  .  .  Yes?  .  .  . 
No?  .  .  ."  He  lowered  his  head  while  the  Captain's 
voice  again  was  heard: 

"Present — arms !" 

He  as  well  as  the  others  obeyed  the  orders.  Sud- 
denly in  the  midst  of  a  deadly  silence,  while  all  the 
men  were  anxiously  awaiting  a  change,  whatever 
it  might  be,  a  murmur  was  heard  between  two 
shells. 

"Attention,"  said  Puche.  "We  are  going  to  start. 
We  have  one  and  a  half  kilometers  to  cross  under 
fire  .  .  ." 

The  report  of  an  exploding  shell  silenced  him  for 
a  moment,  after  which  he  repeated: 

"The  fire  is  not  violent  .  .  .  and  after  all  we  are 
at  war  .  .  .  There  is  nothing  to  surprise  you. 
Form  fours  and  advance  in  sections." 

He  took  out  his  whistle,  motioned  the  men  for- 
ward without  uttering  a  word,  and  with  his  eyes 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  101 

glued  on  his  map  started  out  ahead  of  his  men 
through  an  open  field. 

Moreau  remarked: 

"We're  in  for  it  now." 

Gaspard  replied: 

"Not  even  time  to  fill  a  pipe!" 

Moreau  continued: 

"Where  is  our  artillery?  They  don't  give  a  damn 
for  us!" 

"Well,  we  don't  give  a  damn  for  them !"  said 
Gaspard. 

The  Captain  blew  his  whistle  and  gave  a  signal 
to  the. men,  in  reply  to  which  they  all  dropped  flat 
on  the  ground.  A  shell  came  along,  with  the  same 
whistling  noise,  and  blew  up  a  corner  of  the  field 
further  on. 

"Poor  aim,"  said  Gaspard,  "too  much  to  the 
left!" 

He  was  sneering  and  all  the  others,  in  whom  this 
first  contact  with  gunfire  was  working  an  enormous 
change,  joined  in  the  chorus  of  nervous  sneers.  They 
were  perspiring  so  much  that  their  eyes  were  damp. 
Lying  on  the  ground,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  they 
looked  at  each  other,  saying: 

"Pretty  hot,  eh?     God,  what  a  life!" 

The  Parisians,  however,  did  not  lose  their  mind. 
The  explosions  of  the  shells  brought  back  to  them 
the  everlasting  rumbling  of  Parisian  life,  and  Gas- 


102  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

pard  remarked:  "It  sounds  like  one  of  the  big  foires 
at  home!" 

The  men  stood  up  and  dropped  to  the  ground 
again  at  the  order  of  the  Captain,  who,  however, 
always  remained  standing,  his  map  and  field  glasses 
in  his  hands,  holding  his  company  together,  support- 
ing it  and  encouraging  it  by  his  example,  unmoved, 
cool  and  calm,  wonderful  in  the  way  he  accepted 
quietly  a  reality  which  was  becoming  more  and  more 
terrific  every  minute.  The  shells  seemed  to  be  com- 
ing along  faster,  encircling  this  handful  of  men, 
whose  courage  was  being  kept  up  by  Gaspard's  jokes 
addressed  to  the  shells: 

"Maybe  you'll  get  us!  ...  Maybe  you  won't. 
Ah,  the  fools!  .  .  .  The  damn  fools!  They've  been 
practising  nothing  else  for  forty  years  and  this  is 
the  best  they  can  do!" 

The  men  motioned  their  approval  and  every  one 
laughed;  the  joy  at  not  being  hit  was  enough  to 
strengthen  every  heart. 

The  most  amazing  part  of  it  all — and  this  had 
not  yet  occurred  to  the  men — was  that  no  one  could 
see  the  Germans.  Nor  could  the  French  be  seen. 
This  was  not  an  open  battle  where  the  troops  fight 
man  to  man.  This  was  evidently  a  battle  on  an  im- 
mense scale,  with  regiments  spread  along  several 
kilometers,  facing  an  enemy  far  away  who  was  firing 
shells  over  hilltops  and  wood. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  103 

But  men  are  strangely  pliable.  They  become  ac- 
customed to  the  worst  adventure  with  a  rapidity 
which  at  first  is  astounding  and  finally  becomes  ad- 
mirable. While  exposed  to  this  mysterious  fire  Gas- 
pard  gave  vent  to  the  following  bit  of  philosophy: 

"In  this  business  it's  foolish  to  try  to  understand 
anything." 

What  was  far  more  imperative  just  now  was  to  find 
something  to  eat,  for  the  tragedy  of  the  loss  of  the 
soup  was  beginning  to  dawn  upon  the  men.  They 
had  had  nothing  to  eat  since  the  previous  day  and 
had  been  inarching  all  night.  The  men  felt  a  weight 
upon  their  stomachs  and  their  legs  began  to  give 
way. 

After  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  when  the  shells  began 
to  fall  at  greater  intervals,  the  men  had  more 
thought  for  something  to  eat  than  for  the  danger 
of  the  enemy's  fire. 

Some  one  called  out: 

"Gaspard  .  .  .  let's  have  your  beef,  we're  starv- 
ing!  .  .  ." 

Gaspard  replied  in  an  angry  tone: 

"It  isn't  cut  .  .  .  Leave  me  alone  .  .  .  we'll  eat 
it  to-night." 

The  men  realized  that  this  argument  was  irre- 
futable. Meanwhile  they  found  consolation  in  the 
fact  that  after  the  field  of  beets  which  they  had  been 
crossing  they  were  now  entering  a  cornfield,  a  beau- 


104  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

tiful  field  where  the  stalks  reached  up  to  their  shoul- 
ders, a  real  frontier  field,  of  which  the  harvest  would 
make  the  Germans  die  of  jealousy.  In  the  midst  of 
the  corn  a  few  shells  were  still  falling,  causing  a 
golden  cloud  to  mingle  with  the  smoke  and  powder. 

Every  minute  the  Captain  would  blow  his  whistle 
and  the  men  would  disappear  among  the  cornstalks. 

All  fear  had  vanished  now,  for  the  men  had  found 
something  to  eat.  They  were  seizing  the  stalks  in 
large  armfuls,  removing  the  grain  with  feverish 
hands  and  swallowing  them  by  mouthfuls.  This  was 
a  new  form  of  torture,  and  the  men  had  no  drink 
to  accompany  the  raw  corn.  Their  hunger  was 
merely  deadened  and  their  thirst  was  driving  them 
mad. 

They  soon  came  to  the  end  of  the  beautiful  corn- 
field and  when  out  on  the  plain  discovered  a  village 
ahead  of  them.  The  houses  were  burning  and  the 
entire  battle  scene  was  disclosed  with  its  masses  of 
infantry,  its  exploding  shells,  and,  on  the  other  side, 
the  enemy's  firing  line  made  visible  by  the  flames 
issuing  from  a  nearby  wood.  During  the  first  min- 
ute all  the  horrors  of  war  were  again  brought  home 
with  terrific  force  to  the  newcomers. 

A  new  object  of  interest,  however,  suddenly  ap- 
peared on  the  scene  in  the  shape  of  a  rabbit  bound- 
ing across  the  field.  Every  eye  followed  it  and  the 
men  with  open  mouths  prepared  to  give  chase,  but 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  105 

the  little  animal  disappeared  in  the  wood.  Gaspard, 
wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  forehead,  said  in 
a  painful  voice  to  Burette: 

"Rabbit!  .  .  .  Just  think  of  it!  ...  A  rabbit 
with  a  good  sauce!" 

Burette  offered  all  he  had  as  a  consolation. 

"I've  got  my  reserve  ration  of  sugar  ...  do  you 
want  it?" 

"Well,  hand  it  over,  but  it  isn't  going  to  help  my 
thirst.  I  think  I'm  beginning  to  like  this  war!" 

"Look,"  said  Burette;  "look  right  ahead  of 
us " 

He  was  pointing  toward  the  flames  across  one  of 
those  beautiful  open  spaces  which  Van  der  Meulen 
excelled  in  painting  and  which  can  be  seen  in  many 
of  his  best  works.  But  in  this  case  the  entire  village 
was  afire  like  an  enormous  brasier,  with  one  high 
flame  above  all  the  others  rapidly  destroying  the 
belfry.  Below,  in  the  plain,  the  German  shells  were 
coming  along  like  a  tide  sweeping  everything  in 
front  of  it,  while  regiments  continued  to  descend  by 
leaps  into  the  very  midst  of  the  shell  fire. 

The  weather  was  exceptionally  fine  and  the  fight- 
ing forces  could  easily  be  seen.  The  enormous 
battlefield  was  right  there,  and  presented  a  terrify- 
ing sight  to  the  newcomer.  The  sun  was  shining 
and  it  seemed  as  if  this  province  of  Lorraine  was 
eager  to  show  itself  in  all  its  splendor  in  order  to 


106  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

encourage  the  troops.  "Look  how  pretty  I  am! 
Save  me!"  the  country  seemed  to  say  to  the  sol- 
diers, and  the  day  was  so  beautiful  that  it  seemed 
as  if  the  Almighty  Himself  was  contributing  His 
share  to  the  battle. 

Burette,  deeply  moved,  seized  Gaspard  by  his 
coat. 

"Let's  stay  together,  Gaspard;  do  not  leave  me 
at  any  price !" 

Gaspard  replied: 

"That's  all  right,  friend,  but  meanwhile  this  piece 
of  beef  in  my  bag  is  burning  my  side." 

"This  is  no  time  to  joke,  Gaspard." 

"Oh,  we  come  from  Paris,  we're  no  farmers." 

"It  is  3  o'clock  now,  Gaspard;  in  fifteen  minutes 
we  may  be  dead." 

"In  my  case  it  will  be  twenty  minutes ;  my  watch 
is  slow." 

Gaspard  was  just  as  deeply  moved  as  his  friend, 
but  was  determined  not  to  show  it. 

The  fire  was  increasing  in  violence  and  groups  of 
men  were  disappearing  in  the  smoke ;  the  whole  coun- 
tryside seemed  to  be  shaken  as  by  an  earthquake. 
A  cry  was  heard;  another  soldier  had  paid  his  toll. 
Then  two  more,  ten  more,  some  wounded  in  the  head, 
others  in  the  heart,  fell  as  they  were  running  toward 
the  enemy.  They  appeared  to  have  been  seized  by 
the  neck  by  death  and  hurled  to  the  ground. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  107 

"They  must  think  we're  a  set  of  bowling  pins," 
said  Gaspard. 

The  ranks  of  the  company  were  all  broken  up 
and,  although  the  Captain  remained  just  as  ad- 
mirably calm  as  ever,  he  was  unable  to  make  himself 
heard  by  the  men.  Gaspard  hesitated.  What  should 
he  do?  Run  on  ahead  or  stop  to  help  the  comrades 
who  had  fallen?  He  called  to  Burette  and  the  two 
ran  toward  a  poor  lad  who  was  calling  them. 

"Gaspard!  .  .  .  Gaspard!  .  .  .  Come  here  and 
help  me!  ...  God,  how  I  suffer!" 

Gaspard  opened  the  soldier's  coat. 

"Where  were  you  hit?" 

"I  don't  know  ...  In  the  leg  .  .  .  Yes,  in  the 
leg." 

"Well,  don't  worry,  boy;  that  isn't  bad;  you'll 
be  all  right;  we'll  fix  you  up." 

"Have  you  got  anything  to  drink?" 

"Not  a  drop,  my  poor  boy." 

Gaspard  went  through  his  canvas  bag  and 
brought  out  the  hunk  of  beef,  still  steaming.  He 
gave  it  to  the  wounded  man  and  said: 

"Hold  this  for  a  minute  and  don't  let  it  go  ... 
Burette,  give  him  some  sugar.  See,  Burette;  he's 
a  good  pal.  And  here  is  my  field  dressing  .  .  . 
Now  don't  cry  .  .  .  Stop  it  now,  don't  cry  .  .  . 
The  swine  over  there  are  looking  through  their 
glasses  and  will  see  you." 
8 


108  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

They  did  see  him.  Gaspard  and  Burette  had 
hardly  left  him  when  a  shell  tore  him  in  two,  muti- 
lating his  body  in  a  terrific  manner.  The  other  two 
men  did  not  see  this,  for  they  were  going  straight 
ahead  while  Gaspard  kept  on  grumbling  "Damn  the 
artillery  .  .  .  they're  not  supporting  us !" 

He  understood  nothing  of  this  new  method  of 
fighting,  of  this  cruel  battle  where  the  enemy  never 
could  be  seen  and  where  his  regiment  was  being 
mowed  down  by  devilish  fire.  What  was  the  object? 
Why?  But  to  express  his  disgust  he  could  find 
nothing  but  funny  words  even  in  the  midst  of  all 
these  horrors. 

Followed  by  Burette,  he  ran  up  to  Moreau. 

"Can  you  hear  the  damn  fools  with  their  coffee 
grinders  ?" 

What  he  called  coffee  grinders  were  the  machine 
guns,  which  were  now  raining  upon  the  men  a  con- 
tinuous hail  of  death-dealing  bullets  and  the  soldiers 
realized  what  an  unequal  battle  they  were  fighting 
against  the  Prussian  artillery.  Gaspard  was  the 
first  to  venture  a  protest.  He  said  to  Burette: 

"This  is  worse  than  a  slaughter  house!  All  they 
have  to  do  now  is  to  mark  us  with  red  ink  before 
sending  us  out!" 

He  sat  down  on  the  road,  discouraged  and  dis- 
gusted. 

Suddenly  he  felt  something  touching  his  hand  and 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  109 

turned  around  quickly.  It  was  the  dog  which  was 
licking  his  hand,  the  black  dog  which  had  followed 
the  regiment,  to  which  he  had  given  food  and  which 
was  now  at  his  side  in  the  midst  of  the  battle. 

"Hello,  old  sport;  glad  to  see  you!" 

He  took  the  brute  in  his  arms  and  caressed  it 
tenderly,  saying: 

"You've  come  to  fight,  haven't  you?  Would  you 
like  to  eat  up  some  of  the  Boches?  Well,  you'll 
get  what  you  want,  for,  as  you  can  see,  a  good  deal 
of  work  has  already  been  done.  And  believe  me, 
we've  done  some  marching;  just  ask  Burette.  You 
know  Burette ;  he's  a  pal.  And  we're  going  to  take 
that  village  away  from  them.  You  see  that  village 
right  over  there  ?  Come  on,  Burette ;  we're  off !" 

While  getting  up  from  the  road  Gaspard  put  his 
hand  in  a  pool  of  blood. 

"My  God !"  he  exclaimed,  "this  is  horrible." 

The  dog  was  barking,  but  Gaspard  did  not  finish 
his  sentence.  Right  beside  him  terrifying  reports 
were  heard.  He  jumped  aside  and  looked  at  Bu- 
rette, who  was  already  staring  at  him.  His  friend 
exclaimed : 

"These  are  our  guns,  Gaspard.  This  time  they're 
going  to  it." 

Gaspard's  eyes  were  shining. 

"What?     Do  you  mean  our  artillery?" 

"Sure !     Just  listen." 


110  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

A  long  series  of  shots  were  heard  coming  from  the 
hilltop  in  the  rear,  and  they  sounded  like  a  cold, 
determined  revenge.  Gaspard  was  trembling  with 
emotion. 

"It's  the  seventy-fives  !  The  seventy-fives !  Hur- 
ray, boy;  now  we've  got  them!" 

He  started  to  run  forward  again,  but  the  piece 
of  beef  which  he  had  replaced  in  his  canvas  bag  was 
still  burning  his  side.  Moreau  said: 

"Throw  it  away." 

"Fine  meat  like  that?"  said  Gaspard.  "You  poor 
fool,  who  do  you  think  I  am?" 

He  went  on  by  leaps  and  bounds,  with  the  others 
following  closely. 

Just  then  there  happened  one  of  those  events 
which  men  taking  part  in  a  battle  can  never  under- 
stand, for  each  soldier  sees  no  further  than  the  minor 
action  in  which  he  and  his  friends  are  engaged.  The 
men  stopped  and  drew  back,  and  immediately  after 
came  a  panic  in  which  even  the  bravest  and  the 
strongest  were  overcome.  The  men  turned  and  ran, 
pushing  each  other,  the  unwilling  being  dragged 
along  with  the  others.  It  was  a  retreat,  but  no  one 
knew  why.  No  one  could  tell  just  where  it  started; 
some  one  began  and  the  others  followed.  But  when 
one  is  a  Parisian  .  .  .  from  the  Rue  d'la  Gaite,  one 
is  not  long  in  recovering  one's  spirits.  The  great 
amount  of  good  common  sense  with  which  all  Pa- 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  111 

risians  are  gifted  is  stronger  than  any  idea  of  flight, 
and  it  was  for  that  reason  that  in  the  midst  of  the 
rout  Gaspard  stopped  suddenly  and  called  out  in  a 
thundering  voice : 

"Where  are  they  going?  Why  are  they  running? 
You  fools !  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?" 

The  explosion  of  a  shell  near  by  threw  him  to  the 
ground  and  he  disappeared  in  a  cloud  of  black 
smoke.  Burette's  heart  almost  ceased  to  beat.  He 
called  out: 

"Gaspard!  .  .  .  Gaspard!" 

A  voice  replied: 

"All  right,  pal!     Nothing  happened  this  time!" 

Gaspard  jumped  up  and  ran  toward  the  fleeing 
soldiers,  followed  by  the  dog,  to  which  he  was  say- 
ing: 

"Bite  them  in  the  legs  and  don't  be  afraid! 
They're  not  men,  they're  a  lot  of  frightened  chick- 
ens !  Where's  the  General  ?  Eh,  General,  come  over 
here  and  give  them  each  a  medal  with  a  picture  of  a 
running  hare !" 

But  there  were  no  more  officers  nor  even  ser- 
geants. 

"Forward !  Forward !"  Gaspard  called  out. 
"That  isn't  the  way  to  go  home!  Why,  we're  just 
beginning  and  I  haven't  killed  a  single  Boche  yet!" 

Fifty  men  immediately  turned  and  followed  their 
new  leader. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"Just  listen  to  the  seventy-fives !  I  tell  you  we're 
giving  it  to  them  and  we'll  have  them  jumping  like 
fishes  on  a  frying  pan !" 

Unfortunately  they  were  doing  the  jumping  them- 
selves. Shells  were  falling  to  the  right,  to  the  left 
and  in  front  of  them.  One  by  one  the  men  were 
falling.  Those  who  remained  ran  to  the  road,  but 
the  shells  followed  them.  Their  bags  and  other 
equipment  were  riddled  with  bullet  holes.  The  earth 
under  them  seemed  to  be  opening  up  and  the  air 
appeared  to  be  on  fire.  Finally  Gaspard  and  Bu- 
rette received  their  share,  struck  by  the  same  shell. 

Burette  did  not  fall  at  once.  Standing  erect  he 
announced  bravely  that  he  was  hit.  Gaspard  re- 
plied : 

"So  am  I!     Ah,  the  swine!" 

He  was  white  in  the  face  and  seemed  to  have 
already  lost  weight.  He  was  suffering  excruciating 
pains,  but  his  will  power  was  as  strong  as  ever. 

"Yes,  I'm  hit,  but  the  pieces  are  still  good." 

He  was  holding  his  bag  with  both  hands.  The 
idea  of  being  wounded  in  the  back  was  disgusting 
to  him.  And  when  a  new  hail  of  bullets  came  alongr 

Q 

and  Burette  cried  out,  "Lie  on  your  stomach !"  he 
replied:  "Ah,  leave  me  alone!  I  want  to  be  hit  on 
the  real  side!" 

His  wish  was  not  granted,  however.  He  was  still 
able  to  limp  along,  but  when  he  turned  and  no  longer 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  113 

saw  Burette  he  stopped  at  once  and  called  out :  "Eh, 
Burette !  Where  are  you  ?" 

There  was  no  reply.  He  raised  his  head  and  called 
out  again: 

"Burette !  .  .  .  Burette !  .  .  .  Where  are  you,  my 
old  pal!" 

As  he  was  uttering  the  last  word  a  bullet  went 
through  his  cap,  and  despite  his  wound  he  exclaimed : 

"Good  thing  my  mother  didn't  make  me  taller!" 

He  turned  back  and  went  looking  for  Burette. 
He  found  him  a  few  yards  in  the  rear,  on  his  knees, 
his  mouth  open  and  a  strange  stare  in  his  eyes. 
Gaspard  rapped  him  on  the  shoulder  and  the 
wounded  man  collapsed. 

"My  God!"  exclaimed  Gaspard. 

The  song  of  the  bullets  was  still  going  on. 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  Gaspard  with  a  ner- 
vous laugh. 

"Ah!  ...  Ah!  ..."  was  all  Burette  replied. 

"Were  you  hit  again?  .  .  .  Where?  .  .  ." 

His  comrade  pointed  to  his  stomach  and  rolled 
over  on  the  ground  with  another  deep  sigh. 

"The  brutes !"  said  Gaspard. 

He  opened  up  his  friend's  clothes  and  said  in  a 
tone  of  voice  which  he  tried  to  make  as  merry  as 
possible : 

"But  it's  nothing  at  all,  pal;  it's  just  a  little 
scratch,  just  a  scratch." 


114  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"I'm  done,"  murmured  Burette. 

"You're  crazy  .  .  .  just  lie  down  here  .  .  .  why, 
you  know  me  ...  I'm  Gaspard  .  .  .  And  I'm  not 
going  to  leave  you;  we'll  stay  here  together;  we're 
pals  and  good  pals." 

"I'm  done  .   .   ." 

"Now  don't  be  a  fool !" 

A  shell  exploded  a  few  yards  away  and  Gaspard 
said: 

"The  worst  of  all  is  that  they  won't  stop  it !  Do 
you  think  you  could  walk,  pal?" 

"Oh,  no,  ...  no  ..  ." 

"Not  if  I  hold  you  up?" 

"No,  I'd  rather  die  here  ...  Oh !  ...  Oh !  ... 
Tell  my  little  wife  .  .  ." 

"Will  you  shut  up !  Why,  if  you  could  see  your- 
self you'd  see  you  have  a  face  to  last  a  hundred 
years!  .  .  .  Why!  .  .  .  Just  because  you  got  hit 
by  some  lead?  .  .  .  Well,  what  about  it?  .  .  .  We'll 
get  it  out  of  your  system." 

Another  shell  came  along  and  Gaspard  threw  him- 
self on  top  of  Burette,  protecting  his  comrade  with 
his  own  body. 

"You're  not  going  to  get  any  more  of  it  if  I  can 
help  it.  Well,  now,  listen  to  me;  we've  got  to  get 
out  of  here  and  that's  no  lie.  .  .  .  We're  no  longer 
going  to  the  village.  We  two  have  got  our  share. 
.  .  .  Just  put  your  arms  around  my  neck.  .  .  ." 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  115 

"No!  ...  Oh,  no!  ...  Gaspard  .  .  .  Don't 
move  me  ...  It  hurts  ...  It  hurts  .  .  .  God, 
how  I  suffer  .  .  .  I'd  rather  .  .  .  that  you  listen 
to  me  .  .  ." 

"Listen  to  you!  Yes,  as  always!  It's  not  for 
nothing  that  you're  a  college  graduate.  That's  the 
way  they  all  are  in  college.  Now  I'm  not  going  to 
ask  you  whether  you  like  it  or  not.  .  .  .  I'm  just  go- 
ing to  take  you  along." 

"No!  .  .  .  No!  .  .  ." 

"Come  on  along  .  .  .  Hold  me  tight.  .  .  .  Come 
on.  Forward,  march!" 

He  had  completely  forgotten  about  his  wound. 
He  threw  away  his  haversack  and  rifle  and  kept  only 
his  canvas  bag  because  it  contained  the  hunk  of 
beef;  he  took  his  friend  in  his  arms  as  though  he 
were  a  child  and  began  to  walk  over  the  same  ground 
which  he  had  previously  crossed  under  the  enemy's 
terrific  fire. 

The  firing  was  going  on  with  the  same  violence 
and  the  Boches  seemed  to  have  no  intention  of  stop- 
ping it.  Gaspard,  out  of  breath,  with  his  comrade 
in  his  arms,  went  through  a  long  field  where  the 
bullets  of  the  machine  guns  were  flying  fast  and  furi- 
ously, singing  through  the  air  as  they  came  along. 
The  soldiers  hate  the  bullets  more  than  the  heavy 
shells,  for  they  are  practically  invisible  and  come 
along  by  hundreds  and  by  thousands.  Unlike  the 


116  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

machine  guns,  the  shells  give  the  soldiers  some 
breathing  time. 

"The  brutes !  .  .  .  The  brutes  S  .  .  .  The  swine !" 
murmured  Gaspard.  He  felt  his  pluck  giving  way 
in  the  midst  of  this  rain  of  bullets,  which  seemed  to 
be  pursuing  him  on  his  mission  of  mercy.  Two  or 
three  times  he  stopped,  placing  Burette  quietly  on 
the  ground,  held  his  wounded  back  for  a  moment 
and  then  picked  up  his  comrade  again  and  went  on. 

•'Don't  worry,  pal,  we're  getting  ahead.  .  .  . 
We'll  soon  reach  the  village  and  you'll  be  fixed  up 
in  less  than.no  time." 

The  enemy,  however,  was  extending  his  fire.  From 
an  elevation  in  a  wood  where  he  could  watch  the  en- 
tire plain  he  had  probably  just  discovered  all  these 
wounded  men,  who,  like  Gaspard,  were  going  along 
back  of  the  French  lines  alone  or  by  twos  or  threes, 
poor  unfortunates  limping  to  the  ambulances  while 
holding  their  wounded  limbs  or  heads.  The  enemy 
arrived  at  the  cruel  decision  that  these  men  should 
be  exterminated.  And  a  new  rain  of  shells  more 
frightful  than  the  others  came  along.  None  of  the 
poor  unfortunates  had  the  strength  of  the  begin- 
ning of  the  day  when  they  were  able  to  dodge  the 
explosions,  jumping  to  the  right  or  left  or  throw- 
ing themselves  on  the  ground.  Many  were  hit  again, 
once,  twice  and  even  three  times ;  but  they  went  on 
in  a  supreme  effort  to  reach  assistance.  Poor  muti- 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  117 

lated  beings,  they  had  done  their  share  and  paid 
the  price  and  still  the  German  guns  pursued 
them. 

Gaspard,  however,  was  not  frightened  in  the  slight- 
est degree.  He  was  just  simply  wonderful.  He  went 
along,  perspiring  and  suffering,  but  kept  on  encour- 
aging his  friend  and  his  own  self. 

"I  should  worry !  .  .  .  I  don't  care  what  they  do ! 
.  .  .  I'll  take  a  chance  any  time!  ...  If  we  die  to- 
gether, well,  then  we'll  die  together!" 

"Yes  .  .  .  Yes,"  .  .  .  murmured  Burette,  "but 
don't  shake  me  too  much." 

"Well,  you  know,  old  sport,  you're  pretty  heavy." 

At  these  words  Burette,  who  was  suffering  intense- 
ly, reopened  his  eyes  suddenly  and  said: 

"Gas  .  .  .  Gaspard  .  .  .  You're  the  best  friend 
I  ever  had." 

Gaspard,  bent  down  by  the  weight  of  his  pal,  did 
not  reply.  Both  were  deeply  moved. 

To  the  right,  to  the  left,  on  the  battlefield,  which 
they  were  crossing  for  the  second  time,  voices  called 
out: 

"Eh,  you  ...  eh,  friend  .  .  .  give  me  a  drink! 
A  drink !  .  .  .  Haven't  you  even  got  a  draught  ?" 

All  made  the  same  request.  At  the  same  time  the 
names  of  women  could  be  heard,  softly  murmured 
by  wounded  men  who  were  uttering  their  last  words 
in  this  world :  "Jeanne !  Jeanne !  .  ,  Marie !  . 


118  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

Marie!  .  .  .  My  poor  wife  .  .  .  Mother!  ...  A 
drink  .  .  .  Please,  a  drink !" 

Gaspard  was  as  white  as  a  sheet,  although  he  was 
still  very  hot.  He  was  staring  right  in  front  of  him 
so  as  to  avoid  all  the  pitiful  looks  of  the  other 
wounded ;  he  was  walking  straight  ahead,  carefully 
avoiding,  however,  the  bodies  of  the  dead.  Some  of 
them  had  fallen  on  their  backs  and  their  open  eyes 
were  turned  heavenward  in  a  cold,  distressful  glance. 
Others  were  lying  face  downward,  half  buried  in  the 
mud. 

The  sun  was  setting  in  all  its  glory  flooding  with 
its  last  rays  the  surrounding  country;  and  in  front 
of  this  flaming  sky,  over  which  blood  red  clouds  were 
rolling,  the  Germans  were  trying  their  best  to  out- 
rival the  work  of  nature  by  setting  fire  to  more  vil- 
lages, more  homes. 

The  night  was  yet  to  come  .  .  .  the  night,  which 
would  probably  mean  death  to  many  of  them,  and 
Gaspard,  staggering  along  with  his  human  burden, 
realized  it  quite  well. 

He  reached  the  ambulance  only  after  an  extra- 
ordinary effort,  bleeding  all  over,  for  the  long  march 
had  torn  his  wound  still  further  apart.  He  was  not 
in  the  slightest  alarmed,  however;  his  sole  idea  was 
that  he  had  a  pal  and  that  he  was  saving  the  life  of 
that  pal. 

He  placed  him  on  the  ground  by  a  stone  wall  and 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  119 

went  away  to  see  a  sergeant.  In  the  darkness  which 
was  already  covering  the  village  about  1,000  men, 
piled  up  along  the  roads,  were  crying,  sobbing,  help- 
ing each  other  and  swearing  at  each  other.  Wounded 
men,  Red  Cross  attendants  and  fugitives  intermingled 
with  the  fresh  troops  on  their  way  to  take  the  places 
of  the  dead. 

Gaspard's  first  step  was  to  go  to  a  fountain  where 
about  100  soldiers  were  in  line,  waiting  for  a  drink. 
Gaspard's  loud  voice  and  the  air  of  authority  which 
he  always  assumed  helped  him  to  get  to  the  front  row 
and  he  soon  had  his  head  and  arms  under  the  refresh- 
ing stream  of  water,  after  which  he  called  out  to  the 
others : 

"I  want  a  surgeon !  .  .  .  Where  can  I  find  a  sur- 
geon?" 

He  found  three  of  them  who  were  actively  engaged 
in  assisting  a  number  of  wounded  who  had  sought  ref- 
uge in  a  hay  loft.  They  were  saying : 

"This  is  horrible  .  .  .  horrible.  ...  If  they  go 
on  like  this  there'll  be  no  one  left  in  a  couple  of 
days !" 

"That's  a  sure  thing,"  said  Gaspard. 

"Who  asked  you  for  your  opinion,"  said  the  sur- 
geon. "Shut  up !" 

Gaspard  replied: 

"Shut  up?  .  .  .  Why  should  I  shut  up?  .  .  .  Fve 
received  my  share  and  I  have  a  right  to  talk.  .  .  . 


120  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

Anyhow,  I'm  not  talking  for  myself,  but  for  Burette, 
my  pal.  .  .  .  Yes,  my  pal.  He's  got  a  bullet  in  his 
stomach  and  I  want  a  wagon." 

"A  wagon !  Go  and  see  the  stretcher  bearer  and 
leave  us  alone !" 

He  went  out,  highly  indignant.  But  when  he  came 
to  the  stretcher  bearers  nothing  could  stop  him.  He 
seized  one  by  the  arm  and  held  on  to  him.  The  man, 
however,  was  unable  to  give  any  assistance  and  Gas- 
pard  said: 

"You  poor  fool,  why  did  they  put  crosses  on  your 
sleeves?  Were  you  trying  to  look  pretty,  you  poor 
idiot!" 

He  turned  away,  but  stumbled  over  the  legs  of  a 
man  lying  across  the  road.  He  was  pushing  on  with 
a  strong  oath  when  he  heard  some  one  call  and  turned 
around.  It  was  Captain  Puche,  but  he  could  hardly 
recognize  him,  for  the  officer's  face  seemed  just  one 
large  blot  of  blood. 

"And  you  too!"  said  Gaspard.  .  .  .  Ah,  isn't  it 
the  limit.  .  .  .  And  hit  in  the  head,  too!  .  .  .  Does 
it  hurt?" 

"It's  nothing,"  said  Puche  in  a  low  voice.  His 
head  was  all  wrapped  up  in  bandages.  He  could 
hardly  talk,  but  in  his  hand  he  held  a  pencil  and  a 
piece  of  paper,  and  as  the  sergeant-major  came  along 
with  a  lantern  in  his  hand  he  beckoned  to  him  and 
said: 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  121 

"I've  finished  the  account.  ...  It  makes  .  .  . 
eight  hundred  and  thirty  .  .  .  francs.  .  .  ." 

He  turned  back  his  head  so  as  not  to  get  too  much 
blood  in  his  mouth. 

Gaspard  didn't  know  just  what  to  say. 

"Captain  .  .  .  Burette  has  been  hit  too.  .  .  . 
He's  got  a  bullet  in  his  stomach.  .  .  ." 

"Burette?  .  .  .  Poor  Burette,"  said  Puche.  "Is 
he  dead?" 

"No ;  but  in  pretty  bad  shape." 

"To  die  for  one's  country  .  .  ."  said  the  Captain, 
"is  the  finest  .  .  .  death.  .  .  ." 

He  was  not  at  all  nervous,  and  despite  his  wound 
he  was  eager  to  straighten  out  his  accounts  before 
being  taken  away  to  a  hospital,  and  he  kept  on  giv- 
ing out  instructions. 

"No  potatoes  should  be  taken  without  special  or- 
ders. .  .  ." 

"Understood,  Captain,"  said  the  sergeant-major; 
"but  you  are  losing  a  lot  of  blood." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  drops  of  blood  were 
falling  on  the  paper  containing  the  Captain's  ac- 
counts. 

"It's  all  right.  ...  I'm  all  right.  .  .  .  Good-by 
.  .  .  Gaspard  .  .  .  Good  luck.  .  .  ." 

They  shook  hands  and  Gaspard  tried  in  vain  to  say 
a  few  words  of  encouragement  to  his  superior  officer. 
As  he  walked  away  he  heard  Puche  say : 


PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"In  my  bags  you  will  find  some  chocolate.  .  .  . 
You  may  .  .  .  give  it  ...  to  the  men.  .  .  ." 

He  gave  him  his  field  glasses  and  his  map  and  was 
still  holding  up  his  head  to  keep  the  blood  from  fall- 
ing on  his  papers  and  on  his  uniform. 

Gaspard  went  away,  saying  to  himself :  "That  man 
is  a  hero." 

He  returned  to  Burette,  who  was  moaning  at  the 
place  where  he  had  left  him.  A  man  surgeon  had  just 
examined  his  wound.  Gaspard  ran  after  the  surgeon 
and  inquired  regarding  the  condition  of  his  friend. 

"Which  one?"  said  the  surgeon.  "The  poor  chap 
over  there?  He's  gone." 

"Really  ...  do  you  mean  it?     Damn  this  war!" 

He  went  back  to  Burette  and  leaned  over  him. 

"Don't  worry,  pal!  They  tell  me  it's  nothing  at 
all." 

"I'm  going,  Gaspard  .   .  .  I'm  going." 

"Rot.  .  .  .  Don't  be  foolish.  .  .  ." 

"Listen,  Gaspard  .  .  .  I've  done  my  duty.  .  .  . 
God,  how  I  suffer!  ...  Ah!  ...  Tell  my  little 
wife.  .  .  ." 

"Don't  talk,  boy ;  you'll  only  hurt  yourself.  .  .  ." 

"Tell  her  ...  that  I  die  ...  thinking  of 
her.  .  .  ." 

"Come  on,  pal.  .  .  .  My  pal.  .  .  .  You'll  tell  her 
that  yourself.  ...  I  mean  .  .  .  don't  be  afraid ; 
you'll  see  her  again." 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  123 

Burette's  hands  were  already  cold  and  his  breath 
was  like  a  chill. 

The  surgeon  returned  followed  by  two  stretcher- 
bearers. 

"Take  this  man  up  quietly  and  carry  him  to  the 
ambulance." 

"Yes  ...  Oh  ...  Quietly  ..."  said  Burette. 
"Gaspard,  put  me  on  the  stretcher,  will  you?" 

"You  bet  I  will,  pal." 

He  picked  him  up  again,  placing  his  arms  tenderly 
around  the  poor  mutilated  body.  A  light  appeared 
in  Burette's  eyes  and  kissing  his  friend  on  the  cheek 
he  said: 

"You  .   .   .  are  the  best  friend  I  ever  had.  .  .  ." 

Gaspard  was  doing  his  utmost  to  overcome  his 
emotion.  They  took  Burette  away  and  he  tried  to 
follow  him,  but  the  surgeon  said: 

"You,  my  friend,  will  be  sent  elsewhere." 

He  cried  out  in  despair : 

"Do  I  have  to  leave  my  pal?" 

"Can't  be  helped,  my  friend !" 

"Well,  then,  let  me  at  least  say  good-by  to  him. 
.   .   .  Burette !  .   .   .  My    old    friend    Burette.  .  .   . 
We'll  meet    again    at    Montparnasse !      Don't    be 
afraid." 

He  just  had  time  to  shake  his  friend's  hands  and 
a  minute  later  he  was  alone,  all  alone,  although  a 
thousand  men  surrounded  him. 
9 


PRIVATE    GASPARD 

His  pal  had  gone !  .  .  .  He  sat  down  and  screamed 
out  aloud.  .  .  .  He  had  forgotten  all  about  his 
wound,  which  had  not  even  been  bandaged. 

An  assistant  surgeon  removed  his  clothes  and  band- 
aged him  as  well  as  possible,  dressing  the  wound  in  the 
light  of  the  moon.  He  said : 

"You  lost  a  good  bit  of  flesh,  my  friend." 

"Well,  I  don't  care,"  said  Gaspard,  "I  don't  give 
a  damn  ...  all  this  business  is  rotten."  .  .  . 

Turning  around  and  burying  his  face  in  the  earth 
he  burst  out  crying. 

War!  What  a  horror!  To  leave  the  ordinary 
friend  of  daily  life  and  go  into  this  hell  where  all  the 
elements  seem  to  get  together  to  mutilate  you,  tear 
you  apart,  torture  you !  You  go  out  with  friends  and 
they  fall  at  your  side.  You  love  them  .  .  .  and  you 
die.  .  .  .  Help!  ...  A  drink  .  .  .  and  how  about 
the  women  back  home,  and  the  children !  .  .  .  and 
Burette !  .  .  .  Every  new  thought  would  bring  fresh 
tears  to  the  eyes  of  Gaspard.  He  was  crying  with  all 
his  soul. 

When  his  wound  had  been  dressed,  he  recovered 
some  of  his  old-time  charm.  The  nurse  helped  him 
to  turn  around,  and  after  the  surgeon  had  left  he 
suddenly  remembered  that  he  was  hungry,  and  his 
first  thought  was  for  the  hunk  of  beef  in  his  canvas 


The  bag  was  right  there  at  his  side,  and  having 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  125 

pulled  it  to  him  he  opened  it  quickly  and  took  out 
the  beef. 

The  moon  at  this  time  was  shining  right  in  his 
face,  seemingly  eager  to  help  him  in  the  preparation 
of  his  meal.  Near  by  there  were  two  or  three  other 
wounded  men,  one  hit  in  the  arm  and  another  in  the 
leg,  who  were  sighing  loudly.  When  they  saw  the 
beef  they  stretched  their  heads  and  soon  came  along- 
side of  Gaspard  to  beg  a  piece  of  his  good  looking 
meal. 

Gaspard  this  time  recovered  all  his  good  spirits. 
He  was  quite  willing  to  share  his  meal,  but  held  back 
the  others  with  an  important  air,  saying: 

"Oh !  .  .  .  Just  a  minute.  I  come  first !  .  .  .  Be- 
cause, you  know,  I've  been  carrying  this  around  with 
me  for  some  time !" 


10 


IV 


WHEN  Gaspard  had  eaten  his  beef,  which 
was  almost  raw  and  tasteless,  it  seemed 
nevertheless  to  have  given  him  more  blood 
in  his  veins  and  marrow  in  his  bones.  One  by  one 
the  thoughts  which  had  been  driven  out  of  his  head 
by  all  the  events  of  the  past  few  hours  returned  slowly. 
His  first  worry  was  for  his  company  and  his  regi- 
ment. .  .  .  What  had  become  of  them?  And  the 
friends,  Moreau,  the  others?  He  had  run  away  with 
Burette.  Burette  had  almost  died  in  his  arms.  They 
had  taken  him  away  and  now  he  was  alone.  Now 
he  was  with  strangers  who  were  wounded  as  well  as 
he,  but  who  did  not  have  the  same  number  on  the 
collars  of  their  coat.  It  was  a  bright  moonlight 
night,  but  nothing  could  drive  from  his  mind  the 
thought  of  the  terrific  day  which  he  had  just  lived, 
and  of  which  he  retained  a  mass  of  atrocious  pictures 
while  the  reports  of  the  big  guns  and  rifles  remained 
in  his  ears.  His  ears  were  vibrating,  his  eyes  burn- 
ing; his  body  ached  everywhere,  and  he  kept  on 
repeating  while  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his 
forehead : 

126 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  127 

"What  a  rotten  business!" 

He  sought  information  from  his  suffering  com- 
panions. They  all  belonged  to  different  regiments. 
It  appeared  that  this  battle,  in  which  the  Twenty- 
fourth  Company,  commanded  by  Captain  Puche, 
made  so  calm  and  so  noble  a  stand,  was  a  tremendous 
engagement  where  thousands  of  men  had  suffered, 
had  been  wounded,  mutilated,  killed  among  the  trees, 
bushes  and  cornfields  which  hid  them  from  each  other 
and  which  made  each  group  believe  that  they  were 
alone  to  suffer. 

Gaspard  inquired: 

"What  do  you  call  this  place  ?" 

The  sergeant  replied: 

"They  tell  me  it's  G " 

"G ?"  said  Gaspard.    "Never  heard  of  it." 

He  was  obviously  dissatisfied.  No  one  had  ever 

heard  of  G .  What  he  wanted  was  the  name  of 

one  of  the  great  battles  of  history.  To  have  been 

wounded  at  G would  mean  nothing,  however 

great  an  escape  from  death  he  might  have  had.  He 
had  seen  so  many  fall  and  die!  The  only  ones  he 
hadn't  seen  were  the  Germans.  He  asked  the  others : 

"Did  you  see  the  Germans?" 

A  wounded  man  replied: 

"Much  I  worry  about  that!  I  don't  want  to  see 
them." 

Gaspard  sat  up,  growing  almost  violent. 


128  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"You  fool!  No  use  asking  you  if  you  come  from 
Paris!  You're  probably  from  some  small  country 
town.  .  .  .  He  doesn't  care  to  see  them!  .  .  .  Who 
asked  you  if  you  did  or  not?  .  .  .  Are  you  trying 
to  start  a  fight?" 

"I  don't  want  to  fight.  I'm  just  telling  you  what  I 
think." 

"Well,  you  think  like  a  fool.  He  doesn't  care  to 
see  them!  .  .  .  Well,  who  does?  .  .  .  Only  I  sure 
didn't  think  that  war  was  anything  like  this.  And 
I'm  not  the  only  one  at  that.  When  I  fight  I'm  not 
afraid  to  show  myself;  I  don't  go  into  hiding!  But 
with  these  swine,  they  stay  at  home  and  fire  at  you 
all  their  rotten  steel  and  iron.  We  were  willing  to  go 
right  to  it ;  all  we  wanted  was  a  hand  to  hand  fight." 

A  voice  from  the  shadows  said : 

"Unfortunately  those  are  no  more  the  conditions 
of  modern  warfare." 

"Modern  be  damned!"  said  Gaspard.  "I  don't 
know  any  big  words  like  that  but  I  know  what  I'm 
talking  about.  And  if  I'd  known  before  I  wouldn't 
have  gone  into  the  infantry." 

"Where  would  you  have  gone?"  said  the  same 
voice. 

"Where  would  I  have  gone?  Why,  in  a  flying 
corps !  I  would  have  applied  for  a  job  as  an  aviator 
.  .  .  and  that's  the  kind  of  a  job  I'd  like,  because  I 
could  spit  on  the  Germans!" 


PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"There's  a  lot  of  talking  going  on  here;  a  little 
silence,  please!" 

"There  comes  the  other  butcher,"  said  Gaspard. 

It  was  the  surgeon.    He  said: 

"How  many  are  there  here  who  cannot  walk?" 

He  counted  them  and  then  called  out  for  a  vehicle. 

"Fine!"  said  Gaspard.  "We're  going  to  have  a 
ride  at  the  expense  of  the  Government.  Believe  me, 
I  need  it  too,  for  I'm  pretty  worn  out." 

He  had  completely  recovered  his  good  humor,  but 
he  was  very  much  disappointed  when  he  saw  the  vehi- 
cle in  which  they  asked  him  to  take  a  place.  It  was 
made  up  of  three  boards  on  two  sets  of  wheels,  with 
a  team  of  pitiful  looking  horses,  and  on  the  boards 
there  was  a  very  thin  layer  of  old  straw.  There  was 
about  room  for  two  men,  but  six  were  placed  there, 
piled  up  so  close  that  lively  scenes  followed. 

"Can't  you  be  careful,  you  fool !  Look  at  my 
leg!" 

"Your  leg?    What  about  both  of  mine?" 

Gaspard  addressed  his  complaint  to  the  driver,  an 
old  peasant  of  Lorraine,  who  was  falling  fast  asleep. 

"How  often  do  you  hire  this  out  for  wedding 
parties?  Is  this  the  carriage  of  the  bride?" 

The  peasant  had  not  heard  a  word,  but  in  his  turn 
he  said : 

"Were  there  many  killed?" 

Gaspard  replied: 


130  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"Who  do  you  think  we  are?  The  undertakers? 
Come  on,  get  a  move  on." 

The  other  went  on: 

"Because  you  see  all  the  land  on  which  you've 
been  fighting  belongs  to  me." 

"Well,  you've  got  some  pretty  fine  property,"  said 
Gaspard,  "but  after  all,  I'd  rather  have  the  Rue  de 
Gaite." 

The  peasant  continued: 

"Do  you  think  the  Government  will  pay  for  what 
has  been  wrecked?" 

"Go  on,  get  a  move  on,"  said  Gaspard.  "I  don't 
believe  in  entering  into  conversation  with  my  coach- 
man." 

It  was  a  weird  trip  through  the  moonlight  night. 
For  three  hours  they  went  on  slowly,  to  the  squeak- 
ing of  the  wheels,  each  bump  of  the  road  increasing 
the  sufferings  of  the  six  wounded  men.  The  heads 
of  the  latter  were  moving  slowly  to  the  right  and  left, 
according  to  the  jolts  of  the  wagon.  They  presented 
an  appearance  which  was  just  as  comical  as  it  was 
terrific. 

When  the  wagon  stopped  they  found  themselves  in 
front  of  a  village  church,  and  some  one  gave  the 
order : 

"Step  down!  Everybody  get  out.  Come  oji  in 
here.  We  won't  take  the  train  before  to-morrow 
morning." 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  131 

As  they  were  passing  through  the  door  of  the 
church  Gaspard  said: 

"No  doubt  about  it ;  it's  a  funeral." 

Inside  of  the  church  moans  could  be  heard  com- 
ing from  shadows  in  the  corners.  No  doubt  that 
these  poor  unfortunates  strongly  objected  to  the 
light  of  the  moon,  the  rays  of  which  were  coming  in 
through  the  top  of  the  church,  the  roof  of  which  had 
been  completely  wrecked  by  shells  on  the  previous 
day.  The  wounded  men  had  evidently  tried  to  get 
away  from  the  moonlight,  for  they  were  piled  up 
along  the  sides  of  the  church.  The  priest,  followed  by 
an  old  limping  woman,  was  walking  from  man  to 
man,  a  lighted  candle  in  his  hand.  Every  once  in  a 
while  he  would  place  the  candle  on  the  floor  and  dis- 
tribute lumps  of  sugar  while  the  old  woman,  who  was 
carrying  a  large  water  pitcher,  shakingly  poured 
out  a  mixture  of  wine  and  water  to  the  men. 

Gaspard  was  leaning  against  one  of  the  pillars  and 
drank  what  was  given  to  him  with  great  pleasure. 
When  he  finished  the  wine  and  the  sugar  he  crawled 
along  on  all  fours  so  as  not  to  step  on  the  other 
wounded  men  and  dragged  himself  up  to  the  altar 
where  the  moon  was  shining  brightly  on  the  little 
white  ornaments  and  the  green  plants. 

A  large  wooden  sculpture  of  Christ,  which  had 
probably  been  standing  back  of  the  altar,  had  been 
thrown  down  by  a  shell  and  in  falling  one  of  the  arms 


PRIVATE    GASPARD 

had  been  broken  off.  But  the  arm  was  still  hanging 
to  the  cross  by  the  hand.  Close  to  the  Christ  on  the 
cross  a  wounded  man,  lying  on  a  heap  of  straw,  was 
sighing  heavily.  Gaspard  went  over  to  him : 

"Where  were  you  hit,  friend?" 

The  other  raised  his  finger  to  his  lung  and  said: 
"Right  here." 

"By  a  bullet?" 

"Yes." 

"At  your  age!  Isn't  it  a  shame?  And  you're 
from  Paris?" 

"Yes." 

"Too  bad.  Say,  pal  .  .  .  can't  you  push  up  a 
little  bit?" 

"Can't  do  it." 

"Why  not?  I'm  a  pal.  .  .  .  But  wait,  I'll  change 
the  whole  business." 

Steadying  himself  with  his  knees  he  took  the  cruci- 
fix in  his  arms  and  with  a  supreme  effort  raised  it 
and  pushed  it  toward  the  other  man.  Then  he  said: 

"The  old  man  is  pretty  heavy." 

He  stretched  himself  out  on  the  other  side,  right 
in  the  centre  of  the  moonbeam  which  was  illumi- 
nating the  crucifix  and  the  other  man.  They  looked 
like  the  two  thieves,  on  each  side  of  Christ,  and  they 
began  to  question  each  other. 

Gaspard  said: 

"Did  you  get  any  sugar?" 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  133 

"Sugar?" 

"Yes,  the  priest  has  given  it  away." 

"Oh,  I  see,  the  priest." 

"Yes,  the  priest.  What  about  it?  He  seems  to  be 
all  right.  Priests,  you  know,  are  no  different  from 
other  men.  .  .  .  Nothing  to  say  against  them  .  .  . 
there  are  good  men  everywhere." 

"I'm  not  saying." 

"No ;  but  you  seemed  to  kick  when  we  talked  about 
the  priests.  .  .  ." 

After  a  few  minutes  he  continued: 

"Did  you  get  any  wine  ?" 

"No." 

"Well,  you're  pretty  slow,  you  are." 

"I'm  choking." 

"That's  just  why.  .  .  ." 

The  entire  church  was  filled  with  what  seemed  to  be 
just  one  long,  unending  complaint,  more  heart  grip- 
ping, more  truthful  and  more  sincere  than  all  the 
prayers  ever  invented  by  mankind.  It  was  the  nat- 
ural prayer  from  the  earth  to  God,  and  the  suffering 
men  rehearsing  their  sorrows  in  accents  the  like  of 
which  had  never  before  been  heard  between  the 
stone  walls  of  that  or  any  other  church.  When  a 
small  country  church  is  used  as  a  refuge  for  bleeding, 
suffering  soldiers  who  have  escaped  from  the  battle- 
field it  is  the  most  simple  and  most  heartrending  image 
of  human  misery.  Why  all  these  sufferings,  the 


134  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

wounds  and  this  agony?  The  men  suffer  and  weep 
and  the  stone  walls  seem  to  say,  "We  knew  it  was 
coming  .  .  .  and  we  were  waiting  for  it." 

The  moon  was  disappearing  and  dawn  was  break- 
ing. 

"Stand  up,  all  those  who  can  walk,"  said  the 
surgeon. 

"Well,  I  can't,"  grumbled  Gaspard. 

But  he  stood  up  just  the  same. 

Outside  were  a  number  of  Red  Cross  nurses,  the 
priest  still  holding  his  candle  and  the  old  woman 
with  her  water  pitcher,  while  farmers  driving  two- 
wheeled  carts  were  trying  to  pass  each  other  on  the 
narrow  road.  The  men  were  swearing  and  the  whole 
scene  was  enough  to  discourage  even  the  strongest 
heart. 

As  time  goes  by  in  life  everything  is  straightened 
out  or  wiped  out;  it  has  been  known  to  happen  that 
wounded  men  die  while  on  their  way  to  the  hospitals 
and  their  last  sigh  goes  out  from  the  peasant's  rickety 
cart.  And  when  the  station  at  last  is  reached  where 
salvation  awaits  the  unfortunate  victims  of  war  in 
the  shape  of  a  train  which  will  carry  them  swiftly 
onward,  the  surgeon  looks  quickly  over  the  men  and 
pointing  at  a  few  says :  "Leave  that  one  alone  .  .  . 
he's  through." 

The  train  of  wounded  in  which  Gaspard  was  placed 
was  no  different  from  the  one  which  had  brought  him 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  135 

so  near  to  the  battlefield  in  this  tragic  country  three 
weeks  before.  His  greatest  regret  just  then  was 
that  there  were  none  of  his  comrades  there  with  whom 
he  could  exchange  remarks  concerning  the  train. 
Ever  since  the  battle  he  seemed  to  have  been  trans- 
ferred into  another  world.  He  could  see  nothing 
but  strange  faces.  So  all  he  could  do  was  to  say  to 
himself  that  he  recognized  the  train.  How  far  away 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  first  departure  now  seemed! 
The  flowers  and  tree  branches  with  which  the  cars 
had  been  decorated  were  still  in  evidence,  but  they 
were  hanging  faded  and  forlorn  on  this  returning 
train  of  sorrow  and  suffering. 

However,  thanks  to  Gaspard — continuing  his  habit 
of  bringing  merriment  and  gayety  along  with  him 
wherever  he  went — thanks  also  to  two  Parisians  who 
were  in  the  same  car,  one  a  street  cleaner  from  the 
Butte-aux-Cailles,  the  other  a  delivery  wagon  driver 
from  the  Rue  des  Haudriettes,  this  convoy  of 
wounded  was  one  of  the  most  curious  and  most  inter- 
esting which  had  gone  through  France  since  the  be- 
ginning of  the  war. 

God  knows  there  have  been  many  of  these  trains, 
all  just  as  long  and  just  as  slow!  But  the  trip  of 
this  particular  train  seemed  to  have  no  end  at  all; 
it  was  too  long  for  any  of  the  stations  along  the  road 
and  it  took  no  less  than  five  days — all  of  the  first 
week  of  September,  a  week  of  retreat  and  anguish — 


136  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

to  travel  from  Lorraine,  covered  with  fire  and  blood, 
to  Anjou,  where  everything  was  peaceful  amid  the 
beautiful  vineyards. 

Gaspard  said: 

"Every  circus  travels  at  this  slow  pace.  It  is 
good  business  when  you  are  traveling  with  freaks 
to  stop  in  every  village  along  the  way." 

They  were  going  through  the  Argonne,  still  intact 
and  beautifully  green.  Gaspard  called  out  with  a 
smile  : 

"Good-by  !  Good-by !  It's  not  here  that  I'll  buy 
my  chateau  for  rabbit  hunting!" 

They  went  through  Rheims,  where  the  cathedral 
was  living  its  last  days  as  a  place  of  worship,  and 
none  of  these  men  gave  it  the  look  which  it  deserved. 
The  train  went  around  Paris  without  stopping,  which 
fact  brought  forth  an  outburst  of  anger  from  the 
delivery  wagon  man.  He  told  the  others  that  "he 
wouldn't  have  stopped  more  than  a  week,  which 
couldn't  have  delayed  them  much."  Finally  they 
traveled  through  beautiful  Touraine,  where  the 
chateaux  of  France  seemed  to  have  lined  up  to  re- 
ceive these  first  victims  of  war.  Even  the  street 
cleaner  was  moved  at  their  sight.  "They  sure  knew 
how  to  build  houses  in  the  old  days,"  he  said. 

Most  tragic  of  all  was  the  fact  that  they  were 
visiting  one  by  one  the  very  provinces  for  which  these 
first  battles  had  been  fought.  It  seemed  that  the 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  137 

train  was  creeping  along  for  the  definite  purpose  of 
giving  the  soldiers  an  opportunity  of  admiring  their 
wonderful  country  and  permitting  the  most  simple- 
minded  to  be  proud  of  it. 

Gaspard  was  grumbling  again. 

"Just  my  luck!  .  .  .  This  is  the  first  time  I  get  a 
chance  of  a  free  excursion  and  my  back  is  torn  all  to 
pieces." 

He  had  failed  to  find  room  for  himself  in  the  cattle 
cars,  but  had  been  able  to  place  himself  in  a  small 
third-class  compartment,  where  he  had  stretched 
himself  out  in  the  overhead  net  used  for  luggage. 
He  was  still  grumbling  that  he  was  disgusted  with 
the  republic  and  that  they  were  trying  to  kill  him. 
He  was  lying  on  his  stomach  and  the  pains  in  his 
back  were  increasing.  Despite  all  this,  whenever 
the  train  stopped  Gaspard  would  roll  out  of  his  im- 
provised bed  and  falling  on  the  shoulders  of  his 
comrades  would  jump  out  of  the  car  on  to  the  tracks. 

The  street  cleaner  generally  saw  him  and  fol- 
lowed at  once,  and  so  did  the  delivery  man.  Then 
came  the  others.  The  scene  was  both  tragic  and 
comical  as  all  these  men,  mutilated  by  war,  stepped 
out.  When  a  man  is  hungry  or  thirsty,  or  when  he 
suffers  he  becomes  almost  childish.  No  one  can  hold 
him;  he  slips  between  your  hands.  It  would  be 
necessary  to  have  eyes  all  around  your  head  to 
conduct,  inspect  and  watch  a  train  of  wounded  and 


138  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

see  that  the  full  quota  of  men  is  always  there.  No 
one  escapes  with  greater  facility  than  a  soldier. 
You  place  him  in  a  car  and  he'll  step  out  at  once. 
You  put  him  back  and  lock  the  door  and  immediately 
he  sticks  his  head  out  through  the  window,  inquiring 
and  investigating.  No  sooner  have  you  turned  away 
than  he  is  half  way  out,  and  as  you  go  along  he 
jumps  onto  the  track  again.  When  you  return  he 
tells  you  that  he  fell  out. 

The  assistant  surgeon  who  was  in  charge  of  Gas- 
pard's  train  was  above  everything  else  a  philosopher ; 
he  permitted  the  men  to  do  as  they  pleased  and 
smoked  his  pipe  in  silence.  Almost  all  the  men  in 
consequence  stepped  out  at  one  time  or  another,  limp- 
ing, jumping,  dragging  themselves  along  on  their 
hands,  their  arms  in  slings,  their  heads  thickly  band- 
aged, with  broken  shoulder  blades,  twisted  necks  and 
bleeding  mouths;  all  the  miseries  of  war  helping 
each  other  to  get  a  few  minutes  of  fresh  air. 

They  remained  there  five  or  ten  minutes  while  the 
track  was  being  cleared.  They  were  so  closely  piled 
up  in  the  compartments  that  it  seemed  heavenly  to 
rest  for  a  few  minutes  in  the  grass  along  the  road. 
Gaspard  was  still  compelled  to  lie  on  his  stomach  on 
account  of  the  wound  in  his  back,  but  he  was  still  in 
fine  spirits,  and,  stretching  himself  in  the  grass,  he 
said: 

"This  reminds  me  of  a  Sunday  spent  at  Mendon ! 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  139 

Ah,  my  boy,  that  was  fine  to  spend  the  day  there 
with  a  pretty  girl.  ..." 

"Well,"  said  the  street  cleaner,  "we've  got  nothing 
to  kick  about  now ;  we  haven't  done  a  thing  for  two 
days.  I  got  hit  in  the  chest,  but  then,  I'm  not  a 
nurse,  so  I  should  worry!" 

"You're  right,"  said  the  delivery  man.  "I  think 
we're  all  right  now." 

His  arm  and  leg  were  riddled  with  shrapnel.  He 
was  lying  on  his  back  looking  at  the  sky  and  saying: 

"Old  women  like  to  tell  you  there  is  a  paradise 
and  I'd  rather  believe  them  than  see  it  myself.  When 
I  got  hit  I  said  to  myself  it  was  lucky  that  it  was 
only  in  the  arm  and  leg  and  not  in  the  dining  room." 

He  stretched  himself  out  on  the  grass  with  a  satis- 
fied sigh  as  if  he  were  in  some  luxurious  feather  bed. 

Suddenly  the  whistle  of  the  train  was  heard,  fol- 
lowed by  a  storm  of  oaths  from  the  men  as  they  be- 
gan to  hoist  themselves  back  into  the  cars.  The  men 
were  not  altogether  dissatisfied  after  resuming  their 
journey,  however,  for  while  the  train  looked  dull  and 
uninviting  the  fact  remained  that  it  was  carrying 
them  towards  real  beds. 

Real  beds !  What  a  dream !  Gaspard  from  his 
lofty  perch  called  out  to  a  comrade  seated  in  a  cor- 
ner of  the  compartment: 

"Hey,  pal,  stick  your  head  out  of  the  window!" 

"Why?" 


140  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"Go  on !     Stick  your  head  out !" 

"And  then  what?" 

"What  do  you  see?" 

"Nothing!" 

"All  right;  thanks,  you  poor  fool." 

In  reply  to  the  other  man's  grumbling  he  said: 

"Why,  don't  you  know  that  I'm  expecting  a  special 
sleeping  car?  President  Poincare  has  promised  to 
send  me  his  special  train." 

They  did  meet  a  train,  but  it  wasn't  the  one  Gas- 
pard  referred  to. 

On  the  third  day  towards  midnight,  with  a  beauti- 
ful full  moon,  as  the  train  passed  Rambouillet,  it 
came  up  to  another  train  which  seemed  to  be  lost  and 
from  which  strange  cries  could  be  heard.  Gaspard 
inquired : 

"What  is  it?  A  circus?"  And  once  again  he 
jumped  out. 

He  wandered  along  the  tracks  and  others  followed 
his  example.  The  assistant  surgeon  called  out: 
"Eh,  you,  get  back  into  the  train !"  To  which  the 
delivery  man  replied: 

"I  lost  my  wedding  ring." 

The  other  man  turned  to  Gaspard : 

"And  how  about  you?" 

"Well  ...  I  did  the  same." 

The  officer  turned  away. 

Gaspard,  the  delivery  man  and  the  street  cleaner 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  141 

went  up  to  the  locomotive  of  the  other  train.     The 
fireman  said  in  reply  to  their  inquiry: 

"It's  a  train  of  'bugs.'  " 

"Do  you  mean  it?" 

"Yes.     Bugs,  evacuated  from  Ville-Evrard." 

"Ville-Evrard !"  exclaimed  the  street  cleaner. 

"Do  you  know  it?"  said  the  fireman. 

"Well,  I  should  think  so,"  replied  the  other,  swell- 
ing with  pride.  "Why,  my  uncle  was  in  the  alcoholic 
ward  there  for  three  years." 

"Well,  they  are  taking  them  away  now." 

"Why?" 

"To  save  them  from  the  Boches,  if  they  should  get 
there  .  .  .  and  some  of  them  have  escaped." 

"Where?"  asked  Gaspard  eagerly. 

"Somewhere  around  here.  .  .  .  Just  listen.  .  .  . 
The  guards  are  looking  for  them." 

The  soldiers  burst  out  laughing.  "We'll  go  look- 
ing for  them,  too,"  they  said.  "Don't  forget  to 
blow  your  whistle,  pal!  Don't  get  away  without 
us." 

And  off  they  went  through  the  fields  in  the  moon- 
light. 

Gaspard,  who  was  limping,  was  holding  the  street 
cleaner's  shoulder,  while  the  delivery  man,  walking 
like  a  duck,  came  along  in  the  rear  shouting: 

"Wait  for  me.  .  .  .  Let's  have  some  fun  to- 
gether!" 

11 


142  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

About  a  hundred  yards  from  the  track  a  shadow 
appeared.  They  stopped  and  the  shadow  came 
nearer. 

"There  you  are !     One  of  the  bugs !"  said  Gaspard. 

"No,  it's  a  woman,"  said  the  street  cleaner. 

All  three  were  laughing. 

The  shadow  really  was  a  woman  and  an  insane  one, 
too. 

She  was  a  little,  old,  wrinkled  person,  for  whom 
they'd  been  seeking  for  a  half  hour  and  who  had 
been  hiding  behind  trees  and  bushes,  outwitting  her 
pursuers.  But  the  moon  found  her  and  followed 
her,  the  full  moon  which  seemed  to  look  down  mock- 
ingly and  with  a  mysterious  air.  This  time  the 
moon  certainly  had  a  remarkable  scene  to  contem- 
plate: an  old  insane  woman  running  and  screaming 
through  the  fields,  a  horde  of  bleeding  soldiers  pur- 
suing her  and  enjoying  it  all  as  a  joke;  human 
extravagance  playing  an  act  of  its  horrible  comedy 
to  the  accompaniment  of  the  locomotive  whistles ; 
two  trains  loaded  with  misery,  suffering  and  weeping 
in  the  night,  victims  of  both  peace  and  war;  and 
with  all  this,  death  stealing  quietly  around  among 
the  poor  unfortunates  suffering  on  the  straw  beds 
of  the  cattle  cars. 

"This  way !"  shouted  Gaspard.  "Cut  her  off  here ! 
.  .  .  I've  got  her !" 

The  old  woman  laughed  scornfully. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  143 

"Oh,  but  she  can  pinch !" 

"Oh,  I  know  you!  I  know  you!  You're  the 
deacon,  the  horrible  deacon !  You're  wearing  a  cap, 
but  I  recognized  you !  I've  got  good  eyes.  Ah,  ah! 
And  I'll  hold  on  to  you,  my  little  man !" 

Whistles  were  heard  from  the  locomotives  of  both 
trains.  She  was  foaming  at  the  mouth  as  she  said: 

"Do  you  hear  them  calling  off  the  dogs?  They'll 
chew  up  your  stockings." 

Her  thin  gray  hair  was  hanging  all  over  her 
face.  She  gathered  it  in  both  hands  and  after  a 
long  look  at  Gaspard  said: 

"My  God,  he's  ugly !     I'd  like  to  bite  him !" 

Gaspard  was  holding  her  by  the  elbows,  saying: 
"Come  on ;  come  on."  The  street  cleaner  warned 
him: 

"I'd  let  her  go  if  I  were  you.  She's  liable  to  eat 
you  up." 

"She's  a  fine  old  beast,"  said  the  delivery  man. 

"And  you,  too;  I  know  you,"  howled  the  old 
woman  as  she  began  to  cry.  "You  are  the  bad 
boys  of  the  choir  who  bought  drinks  with  the  money 
instead  of  giving  it  to  the  priest,  and  then  I  ... 
I  didn't  get  my  mass  for  my  poor  husband,  and 
when  I  die  my  poor  husband  will  say  to  me:  'Why 
didn't  you  order  that  mass  for  me  ?' ' 

The  delivery  man  could  hardly  hold  himself  for 
laughing. 


144  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"She's   a   card!     I   think   she's   calling   us   down. 

But  Gaspard,  with  his  good-natured  disposition, 
was  sorry  for  the  woman.  He  was  no  longer  laugh- 
ing and  said: 

"Just  take  her  back  to  the  train.  ..." 

He  tried  gently  to  induce  her  to  walk. 

"Come  on,  grandma  .   .   .  come  along  this  way." 

The  old  woman  protested  with  a  tragic  scream. 

"Help!  .  .  .  The  deacon;  the  horrible  dea- 
con !" 

The  expression  on  her  face  was  horrible  and  she 
was  so  excited  that  all  the  tassels  of  a  white  shawl 
she  was  wearing  were  trembling.  She  was  digging 
her  nails  so  deep  into  Gaspard's  arm  that  he  was 
compelled  to  release  her,  while  she  went  on: 

"The  dogs  will  eat  your  heart,  the  head  and  every- 
thing!" 

"Poor  old  fool,"  said  the  delivery  man. 

She  was  jumping  around  in  the  field,  leaping  to 
and  fro  and  waving  her  arms. 

"Oh !  .  .  .  The  deacon !  .  .  .  and  wearing  red 
trousers  like  the  boys  in  the  choir  .  .  .  but  the  belfry 
will  fall  down  and  the  bells  will  kill  him !  Ah !  .  .  . 
Ah!" 

She  was  swearing  at  first,  but  she  soon  began  to 
sob :  "My  poor  husband !" 

Gaspard  went  toward  her : 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  145 

"Grandma  .  .  .  listen  here  ...  if  you'll  be  good, 
well,  I  will  take  care  of  your  husband.  ..." 

The  street  cleaner  burst  out  laughing. 

"He's  going  to  celebrate  mass !" 

"Well,"  said  the  delivery  man,  "he  surely  has  got 
me  wondering!" 

"Tell  me  all  about  your  husband,"  said  Gaspard. 

"When  you  get  married,"  shouted  the  woman,  "I 
hope  your  wife  gives  birth  to  a  monkey !" 

This  brought  forth  a  new  outburst  of  laughter 
from  the  delivery  man,  while  the  street  cleaner  said: 

"That's  what  I  call  talking!" 

Gaspard,  undaunted,  continued  in  a  gentle  voice. 

."Now,  come  on,  grandma,  just  be  reasonable." 

He  again  took  her  by  the  elbows  and  held  her 
tight. 

"Let  me  go !     Let  me  go !     There  are  the  dogs !" 

The  whistles  were  still  blowing.  The  street 
cleaner  said: 

"Ask  her  about  this  year's  onion  crop." 

Gaspard  said  quietly: 

"Grandma  .  .  .  how  do  you  come  to  know  me? 
...  I  don't  know  you." 

"My  poor  husband  will  avenge  me !" 

"She's  beginning  to  get  on  our  nerves,"  said  the 
street  cleaner. 

"Come  on,  let's  go  back,"  added  the  delivery  man. 

But  Gaspard  continued  in  the  same  tone. 


146  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"What  did  your  husband  look  like?" 

"The  bells !  .  .  .  The  dogs !  .  .  .  And  your  wife 
will  also  give  birth  to  a  spider  with  a  thousand  legs, 
which  will  run  all  over  your  house.  My  husband! 
.  .  .  My  poor  husband!  ..." 

She  was  holding  her  head  in  her  hands  while  Gas- 
pard  pushed  her  gently  forward. 

"Come  on  ...  come  on  along  .   .   .  this  way  ..." 

Suddenly  she  changed  her  mind  and  went  along 
while  saying: 

"My  poor  husband !  .  .  .  They  did  it  on  purpose ! 
.  .  .  They  went  and  said  mass  for  the  first  one  who 
was  a  drunkard  and  nothing,  nothing  at  all  for  the 
second,  who  was  so  good  to  me." 

"Come  on!     Come  on!" 

The  delivery  man  and  the  street  cleaner  were  no 
longer  laughing;  the  whistles  could  still  be  heard 
and  the  moon,  stupefied,  looked  on  as  Gaspard  slowly 
brought  the  old  woman  back  to  her  guards. 

When  they  were  back  in  their  compartments  and 
the  train  had  resumed  its  journey  Gaspard  told  the 
story  to  the  others,  who  refused  to  believe  it,  and 
Gaspard  strongly  resented  their  sceptical  attitude. 

The  minutes  spent  in  the  fields  had  sharpened  the 
pains  in  his  back  and  during  the  night  he  could  not 
help  moaning  like  the  others,  for  at  night  time  a  train 
of  wounded  is  just  one  great  big  moan,  and  it  seems 
as  if  the  darkness  increases  the  suffering.  The  time 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  147 

seems  to  be  unending  and  the  men  are  at  a  loss  to 
know  what  to  do  with  their  arms  and  legs.  Their 
bodies  seem  like  bags  of  rags,  which  they  lean  up 
against  their  neighbor,  but  the  neighbor  quickly 
changes  his  place.  The  men  seem  to  pass  on  their 
troubles  from  one  to  the  other  until  the  break  of 
dawn.  .  .  .  When  the  wonderful  light  of  dawn  ap- 
peared the  effect  was  instantaneous,  and  when  the 
train  is  rolling  through  Touraine  at  the  time  of  the 
rising  of  the  sun  there  is  nothing  to  compare  with 
it.  Touraine,  with  its  gardens,  its  flowers,  its  pretty 
girls  and  its  fruits  in  September,  right  after  a  battle 
from  which  the  men  are  coming  covered  with  dust 
and  blood! 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning  with  glorious  sunshine. 
Along  the  telegraph  wires  hundreds  of  swallows  were 
perched.  In  the  distance  could  be  seen  the  River 
Loire  and  its  chateaux.  Flowers  were  to  be  seen 
everywhere,  all  along  the  tracks,  and  the  soldiers  had 
plenty  of  time  to  admire  them,  for  the  train  stopped 
at  almost  every  crossing,  bringing  to  the  doorsteps 
of  their  houses  all  the  women  of  the  surrounding 
country. 

There  were  charming  little  villages  and  small 
towns  full  of  life  and  gayety,  where  the  young  women 
and  girls  looked  wide  awake  and  happy  as  they 
came  to  the  train  in  their  light  summer  frocks  each 
carrying  an  armful  of  fruit  to  the  wounded.  The 


148  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

soldiers  were  so  delighted  they  forgot  all  their  pains 
and  were  so  moved  they  could  hardly  thank  the 
women. 

One  of  the  girls  brought  grapes  fresh  from  the 
vines,  which  disappeared  in  the  big  hands  of  the 
soldiers.  Another  had  peaches,  small  and  red,  which 
caressed  the  soldiers'  hands  before  delighting  their 
taste.  Still  another  one  brought  pears,  heavy  and 
smooth,  which  were  just  as  fresh  as  she  was  pretty. 
Thus  the  young  girls  of  France  who  lived  in  this 
wonderful  district  of  gardens  and  orchards,  girls  the 
like  of  whom  can  be  found  in  no  city,  came  to  the 
wounded  men  to  delight  them  with  their  gifts  and 
their  smiles. 

Gaspard's  heart  was  so  big  that  he  could  not  help 
being  deeply  moved.  He  felt  as  though  he  were 
entering  the  land  of  the  gods,  and  exclaimed: 

"Ah,  the  pretty  little  women!  It's  well  worth 
fighting  for,  to  come  back  and  find  them  here.  Aren't 
they  lovely!" 

In  his  enthusiasm  he  went  from  one  to  the  other, 
filled  his  pockets  and  his  hands  with  the  fruit  and 
brought  it  back  to  the  men  in  the  cars.  To  those 
who  were  unable  to  move  he  said : 

"What  would  the  gentleman  like?  Succulent 
pears  of  France?  Figs  from  Arabia?  Muscat 
grapes?  Don't  hesitate,  friend,  we've  got  anything 
you  might  like." 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  149 

While  eating  his  own  share  of  peaches,  pears  and 
grapes  he  never  ceased  to  bring  to  the  others  the 
very  best  of  the  refreshing  fruit. 

"Just  smell  this  first  before  tasting  it.  This  isn't 
fruit,  it's  more  like  a  flower!" 

He  kept  on  going  to  and  fro,  humming  a  merry 
song  and  laughing  to  the  women. 

"Thank  you  .  .  .  Fine!  .  .  .  Long  live  France 
and  long  live  London!  ...  Gee,  but  this  is  fine!" 

Never  in  his  life  had  he  been  so  happy,  never  had 
he  received  so  many  good  things,  a  free  distribution 
of  delightful  fruit,  given  out  by  charming  feminine 
hands  !  He  forgot  all  about  his  wound,  his  eyes  were 
shining  and  he  kept  on  distributing  fruit,  saying: 

"That's  what  you  call  socialism!  .  .  .  This  is  a 
wonder !" 

A  stout  little  Red  Cross  nurse  with  a  smiling  face 
went  up  to  him  and  said: 

"You're  a  brave  lad.  .  .  .  What  is  your  name?" 

He  looked  at  her  surprised,  and  after  a  moment's 
silence  replied  in  a  voice  in  which  he  was  unable 
to  disguise  his  pride  at  being  a  Parisian: 

"I  am  ...  I  am  Gaspard  of  the  Rue  de  la  Gaite !" 

But  his  pride  and  happiness  were  short  lived. 
He  believed  himself  in  the  promised  land  and  thought 
he  was  going  to  remain  there;  but  for  the  fourth 
time  nightfall  came  along  and  the  train  went  on 
again,  to  the  utter  despair  of  the  soldiers,  none  of 


150  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

whom  knew  where  they  were  going.  They  no  longer 
knew  whom  to  believe,  for  in  every  town  they  were 
told  that  their  journey  would  be  ended  at  the  next 
stop. 

Gaspard  was  suffering  intensely. 

"Oh,  my  back!  I  wish  they'd  take  it  away,  cut 
it  off  ...  I  can't  keep  this  up  any  longer.  It's  a 
fine  way  to  treat  wounded  men.  .  .  .  I'm  disgusted 
with  the  Government!  .  .  .  I'll  never  vote  again  in 
all  my  life." 

At  Tours  his  pride  received  a  severe  jolt.  The 
train  had  been  waiting  for  two  hours  and  the  men 
who  had  once  again  slipped  out  for  a  breath  of  fresh 
air  Avere  yawning  and  eager  to  go  to  sleep,  watching 
the  tower  of  the  switchman  for  the  signal  which 
would  allow  them  to  proceed.  An  employee  went 
by  and  said: 

"Have  you  seen  the  Boches?" 

"The  Boches?"  grumbled  Gaspard.  "Why,  we 
never  got  a  chance  to  see  them;  they  were  running 
away  like  rabbits!" 

"No,  I  mean  the  Boches  who  are  here  .  .  .  right 
here." 

"Where?" 

"In  that  train  right  in  front  of  you." 

"What  do  you  mean?     Real  Boches?" 

"Three  hundred  prisoners." 

"Do  you  mean  it?" 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  151 

"Just  come  and  look  at  them." 

"No !  I  will  not  permit  you  to  cross  the  tracks," 
shouted  the  assistant  surgeon,  who  was  beginning  to 
get  tired  and  nervous  at  the  men's  persistent  dis- 
obedience. "I've  had  enough  of  this  running  around ! 
You  should  have  looked  at  the  Boches  where  you 
were." 

"But  I  tell  you  we  didn't  see  them,"  said  Gaspard. 

"Well,  you'll  go  back  later,  but  I've  had  enough 
of  this.  Understand?  Stay  right  where  you  are. 
Every  time  the  train  stops  you  run  all  around  the 
country.  I've  had  enough  of  it.  Just  obey  orders." 

"Ah,  shut  up,"  murmured  Gaspard. 

Turning  to  his  comrades  he  said:  "This  is  pretty 
rotten.  We  won't  even  know  what  they  look  like." 

"Well,  you're  not  losing  much,"  said  the  employee. 
"They  are  regular  pigs,  shaved  all  over,  with  not 
a  hair  on  their  heads." 

Gaspard  was  furious. 

"And  to  think  that  we,  the  wounded,  the  victims, 
can't  even  go  and  look  them  in  the  face  and  say': 
"You're  a  lot  of  swine,  do  you  hear  me,  a  lot  of 
swine,  a  people's  swine  with  heads  like  swine !' ' 

The  whistle  again  was  heard  and  the  men  resumed 
their  places  in  the  cars.  The  railroad  employee 
said: 

"I  don't  think  you've  got  far  to  go  now." 

"Yes,  we  know  all  about  that,  we've  heard  it  be- 


152  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

fore,"  said  Gaspard.     "Don't  worry  about  us,  and 
just  go  about  your  work." 

"My  work?  .  .  .  But  .  .   .  I'm  just  telling  you. 

55 

"All  right.     We've  heard  enough  from  you." 

The  train  moved  on.  The  railroad  man  was  dis- 
gusted. 

"You're  polite,  you  are !  To  begin  with,  I  wasn't 
talking  to  you." 

Gaspard  went  back  into  his  net. 

"Not  talking  to  me?  ...  Well,  I  should  hope 
not !" 

He  kept  on  grumbling  during  the  next  two  hours 
until  the  train  finally  reached  its  destination,  a 
small  town  in  Anjou.  When  he  was  quite  sure  that 
they  were  actually  going  to  stop  Gaspard  an- 
nounced : 

"Well,  it's  not  too  soon!  I  was  just  going  to 
begin  to  kick." 

He  stepped  out  without  any  further  comment. 
They  had  arrived  at  a  little  town  whose  name  is  so 
thoroughly  French,  so  lively  and  so  gay,  that  if  it 
were  mentioned  to  the  Chinese  even  they  could  not 
help  saying: 

"It  must  be  in  France." 

They  disembarked  during  the  night  and  at  the 
station  there  was  only  the  light  of  the  stars  to  show 
the  way  to  all  these  unfortunates  who  were  moving 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  153 

along  in  wild  confusion,  pushing  each  other  toward 
the  doors,  where  the  Red  Cross  man  asked  them: 

"Where  is  your  wound?" 

Gaspard  did  not  like  this  question.  He  would 
have  liked  to  reply:  "I  was  shot  through  the  heart," 
but  instead  he  was  wounded  only  in  the  back.  His 
reply  was: 

"I  don't  know.     Look  and  see  for  yourself." 

The  big  fat  man  who  had  questioned  him  was 
amazed  at  this  reply.  He  was  a  local  paper  dealer 
and  a  volunteer  worker  at  the  hospital.  He  replied 
in  a  bitter  tone : 

"What  kind  of  manners  are  these?  .  .  .  If  we  had 
many  soldiers  like  you !  .  .  .  No  wonder  the  Germans 
are  at  Compiegne!  .  .  .  Now  I  understand  why  the 
Germans  ..." 

"What?  .  .  .  What  do  you  mean  ...  at  Com- 
piegne? .  .  .  Compiegne?  ..." 

He  called  out  to  his  comrades,  who  were  staring 
at  him  stupefied.  For  the  last  month  they  had  heard 
nothing  beyond  the  reports  that  the  French  were 
holding  half  of  Alsace,  that  they  were  advancing  in 
Belgium  and  that  the  Russians  had  promised  to  be 
in  Berlin  on  October  1.  So  why  Compiegne?  .  .  . 
What  did  it  all  mean?  .  .  .  Gaspard  murmured  to 
the  street  cleaner  that  the  other  man  was  crazy,  but 
the  paper  dealer  continued: 

"Certainly,   Compiegne!     They're   starting  it  all 


154  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

over  again,  like  in  1870!  .  .  .  but  just  let  them  send 
us  the  men  of  50  years  of  age  and  we'll  show  them! 
We'll  show  them!" 

Gaspard  pushed  the  street  cleaner  in  front  of  him 
and  followed  him  into  an  ambulance  while  saying: 

"It's  pretty  sad  to  have  to  listen  to  rot  like  that. 
.  .  .  Great  Scott,  my  back  is  hurting  me!  .  .  . 
Compiegne!  .  .  .  What  a  joke!  .  .  .  Why,  only  four 
days  ago  we  left  them  with  all  their  outfit  in  Lor- 
raine. ...  So  they  must  have  come  up  by  our  own 
train.  .  .  .  Believe  me,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the 
surgeon  I  would  have  given  that  fool  a  piece  of  my 
mind !" 

The  other  soldier  was  so  overcome  with  fatigue 
that  he  could  hardly  reply: 

"Forget  it,"  he  said ;  "he's  a  Red  Cross  man.  He 
meant  well." 

Gaspard  went  on: 

"Well,  I'm  for  the  wounded  men,  but  not  for  the 
others !  .  .  .  Think  of  him  asking  me  where  I  was 
wounded!  As  though  it  were  any  of  his  business! 
.  .  .  Did  I  ask  him  any  of  his  private  affairs?" 

After  a  moment's  silence  he  returned  to  the  other 
subject. 

"Compiegne!  The  poor  fool!  What  good  would 
our  seventy-fives  be !  And  I've  heard  them  myself, 
the  seventy-fives.  Haven't  we,  friend?  We  heard 
them  go  off!  Poor  damn  fool;  let  him  go  and  tell 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  155 

that  to  his  wife.  As  to  us,  who  have  lead  in  our 
body,  we  know  where  we  got  it!  And  it  was  not 
at  Compiegne  either!  With  the  Belgians,  the  Rus- 
sians, the  English  and  ourselves  it  would  be  pretty 
sad  if  they  got  to  Compiegne!" 

He  never  stopped  until  they  reached  the  hospital 
and  did  not  see  that  they  crossed  the  River  Loire 
twice,  nor  did  he  notice  the  delightful  sensation  of 
entering  into  a  small  peaceful  village.  When  the 
ambulance  stopped  before  a  large  stone  building 
immaculately  white  and  Gaspard  saw  young  girls, 
a  priest,  an  old  man,  a  nun  and  a  Red  Cross  nurse 
come  out  to  help  them  down  it  seemed  as  if  all  nature 
had  come  to  greet  him,  and  their  greeting  killed  his 
bad  humor. 

He  supported  himself  on  the  young  men's  shoul- 
ders, gave  his  bag  to  the  old  man  and  told  the  priest 
that  his  wound  was  in  the  back.  He  smiled  to  the 
Red  Cross  nurse,  said  "Good  evening,  sister,"  to  the 
nun  and  went  on. 

Covered  with  mud  and  dust,  with  a  three  weeks'  old 
beard  and  an  unwashed  face,  he  stepped  forward 
and  as  he  passed  through  the  gate  he  made  a  won- 
derful impression  upon  all  those  who  saw  him.  His 
face  was  shining  with  gratitude  and  he  seemed  deeply 
moved  while  trying  to  find  something  funny  to  say. 
Having  looked  all  around  the  entrance  hall,  its  ceil- 
ings and  its  walls,  he  said: 


156  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"Gee!  This  is  fine.  It  looks  like  the  Louvre 
Museum.  .  .  .  Where  is  the  painting  of  the  Jo- 
conde  ?" 

It  was  Paris  passing  the  gate  of  the  hospital. 

To  Gaspard,  however,  it  was  not  a  hospital,  for 
the  men  from  Paris,  in  order  to  avoid  the  thought  of 
sorrow  and  pain  conveyed  by  that  word,  have  found 
another  name,  and  the  places  where  their  wounds  are 
treated  they  call  the  "hosteau."  It  is  a  better  word 
and  rhymes  with  chateau,  and  no  better  evidence 
could  be  found  of  the  ever  prevailing  spirit  of  the 
Parisian,  merry  even  in  his  worst  time  of  suffering, 
who  dies  with  a  smile  and  a  witty  word  so  that  those 
who  see  him  pass  away  are  not  quite  sure  whether 
they  ought  to  laugh  or  cry. 

The  "hosteau"  gave  Gaspard  a  royal  reception. 

At  the  entrance  he  had  lost  trace  of  the  street 
cleaner,  and  had  allowed  himself  to  be  dragged  along. 
Three  women  surrounded  him,  eager  to  be  of  service. 
A  young  girl  removed  his  shoes  and  washed  his  feet 
and  she  did  it  all  so  sweetly  and  in  so  simple  a  manner 
that  he  was  greatly  confused  and  could  only  say: 

"That's  all  right,  mademoiselle  .  .  .  that  will  do." 

Another  young  woman  helped  him  to  get  into  a 
clean  shirt  despite  his  protest  that  his  own  was  good 
enough.  Finally  an  elderly  woman  emptied  his 
pockets,  saying:  "What  would  you  like  to  keep,  my 
friend?"  She  exhibited  at  the  same  time  a  few 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  157, 

crumbs  of  tobacco,  a  lump  of  sugar,  almost  black, 
and  a  flint. 

He  replied: 

"All  I  want  to  keep  is  my  kid." 

Everyone  laughed.  But  from  the  lining  of  his 
cap  Gaspard  extricated  a  photograph,  slightly  dis- 
colored, of  a  little  boy  half  naked,  which  he  exhibited 
to  the  women. 

"You  see  if  we  didn't  have  kids  like  this  we'd  never 
be  able  to  fight  as  well.  .  .  .  These  kids  must  be 
happy  later  on;  they  must  be  able  to  do  their  work 
and  then  go  to  the  movies  without  saying  to  them- 
selves all  the  time,  'The  Germans  are  going  to  get 
after  us.'  The  last  time  that  they'll  get  after 
us " 

After  a  minute  he  concluded: 

"Pigskin  will  be  cheap  this  year." 

Later  on  he  told  of  the  terrific  fighting  where  there 
were  more  shells  than  men ;  he  told  of  the  lunatics' 
train,  and  with  his  eternally  jovial  spirit  added  a 
multitude  of  detail.  The  elderly  woman  looked  at 
him  and  said :  "You  don't  appear  to  be  ill.  I'm  not 
sure  that  we'll  be  able  to  find  a  bed  for  you." 

For  a  minute  Gaspard  had  nothing  further  to  say, 
but  the  young  girl  reassured  him. 

"Take  my  arm;  we'll  find  one  for  you  all  right." 

He  stood  up  and  supported  himself  on  her  in  the 
most  respectful  manner.  She  wore  the  white  uniform 
12 


158  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

of  the  Red  Cross.  With  her  he  went  through  white 
passages  and  entered  a  sleeping  room,  where  every- 
thing was  white — the  walls,  the  doctor,  the  nurses 
and  the  bed.  It  was  restful  just  to  be  there  and  the 
effect  was  excellent  even  before  going  to  bed ;  fever 
and  pains  would  soon  disappear  in  the  midst  of  these 
women  all  in  white. 

Gaspard  didn't  know  just  how  to  express  his 
delight.  He  slipped  himself  between  the  sheets,  two 
wonderfully  white  and  soft  pieces  of  linen,  the  like 
of  which  he  had  not  known  for  many  weeks.  He  dis- 
appeared almost  entirely  in  the  bed  and  for  a  while 
thought  of  nothing  but  enjoying  the  voluptuous  sen- 
sation of  the  contact  of  the  pure  white  linen  with  his 
poor  hardened  skin.  After  stretching  himself  out  in 
every  direction,  seeking  the  softest  spot,  he  placed 
his  head  on  the  pillow  and  in  a  voice  which  showed 
his  deep  emotion  and  his  tender  gratitude  he  gave 
expression  to  all  his  feelings  by  uttering  the  wonder- 
ful word  which  is  used  by  Parisians  to  express  both 
anger  and  surprise,  both  rage  and  delight,  a  word 
which  conveys  a  meaning  far  different  from  that 
which  it  actually  signifies  and  which  if  history  is  true 
was  made  famous  by  General  Cambronne  on  the 
battlefield  at  Waterloo. 

The  effect  of  this  one  word  on  those  present  in 
the  ward  was  positively  marvellous.  Men  and  women 
looked  at  each  other  surprised  at  first,  but  all  soon 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  159 

burst  out  laughing  and  every  one  came  nearer  to 
see  the  wounded  man. 

Every  one,  men  and  women,  had  understood  at 
once  all  the  good  points  of  this  great  big  Parisian 
who,  despite  his  brutal  talk,  had  a  big  heart  and 
the  real  true  spirit  of  France. 

For  two  months  Gaspard  was  to  be  the  king  of 
the  "hosteau." 


A  WOUNDED  soldier  who  goes  into  a  hospital 
enters  a  new  world. 

He  has  just  been  fighting  and  suffering 
among  other  men  of  his  country.  Suddenly  he  rests 
in  the  midst  of  women  and  gets  an  entirely  different 
view  of  life.  Yesterday  he  was  obeying  orders ;  to- 
day he  is  asked  to  express  his  wishes.  No  one  speaks 
any  longer  to  him  of  death.  He  hears,  on  the  con- 
trary, promises  that  he  will  soon  be  cured.  He  no 
longer  feels  on  his  shoulder  a  weight  of  military 
servitude;  delicate  fingers  dress  his  wounds  with 
wonderful  and  free  devotion. 

He  at  once  becomes  gentle  and  smiling  and  im- 
bued with  an  immense  feeling  of  gratitude.  His 
only  words  express  kind  thoughts  addressed  to  the 
nurses  and  he  feels  more  than  ever  that  France  is  full 
of  good  people. 

The  nurses  think  as  he  does  and  agree  that  every 
one  is  good  in  France;  if  there  are  some  bad  ones 
they  will  be  discovered  in  another  world,  but  just 
here  they  cannot  be  seen. 

A  man  who,  like  Gaspard,  has  bright  eyes  and  a 
160 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  161 

good  straight  way  of  looking  at  you  never  failed  to 
attract  to  his  side  the  most  devoted  and  the  most 
charming  women.  They  find  him  both  interesting 
and  amusing.  They  call  him  poor  fellow,  but  go 
out  of  their  way  to  be  of  service  to  him.  During 
the  next  two  months  Gaspard  was  to  occupy  almost 
all  the  time  of  three  women. 

These  three  women,  who  have  nothing  in  common, 
neither  in  looks  nor  ideas  nor  feelings,  had  been 
gathered  by  fate  around  the  same  suffering  men,  as 
if  to  prove  to  the  patients  that  there  are  at  least 
three  divine  ways  of  being  a  woman. 

One  was  kindness,  the  other  was  charm  personified 
and  the  third  was  life,  life  of  spirit  and  life  of  heart ; 
no  one  wanted  to  die  after  seeing  her. 

The  first  one  had  so  modest  and  so  consoling  a 
face  that  a  sister's  veil  which  would  only  show  the 
smile  of  the  lip  and  the  purity  of  the  eyes  would 
have  been  well  worthy  of  her  peaceful  features, 
which  revealed  a  spirit  of  unending  devotion.  In 
her  manners  and  in  her  actions  she  may  not  have  had 
anything  exceptionally  attractive,  but  the  virtue  of 
her  soul  lightened  her  eyes.  Her  hand,  to  quote  the 
words  of  a  painter,  might  have  looked  like  any  other 
hands,  but  her  fingers,  light  and  pure,  revealed  noth- 
ing except  tenderness.  In  her  words  and  in  her  ways 
she  appeared  to  be  extremely  simple,  but  the  sim- 
plicity was  that  of  clear  water  and  the  blue  sky. 


162  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

Trusting  every  man,  this  young  girl  was  con- 
vinced that  the  bad  ones  had  merely  been  misled. 
She  was  gentle  and  kind  even  to  the  roughest,  re- 
sembling those  beautiful  summer  days  which  cause 
roses  to  bloom  on  the  most  miserable  looking  hedges. 
Time  to  her  has  ceased  to  pass ;  she  was  twenty-five 
years  old,  but  her  age  meant  nothing  to  her ;  she  was 
untiring  in  her  care  of  the  wounded  and  each  one  felt 
himself  a  better  man  after  one  look  at  her. 

Her  name  was  Mademoiselle  Anne,  and  this  short 
name,  which  almost  resembled  a  sigh,  seemed  like  a 
prayer  in  the  mouths  of  the  wounded. 

"Mam'selle  Anne!  .  .  .  Mam'selle  Anne!"  meant 
just  about  the  same  as  "My  God,  how  good  you 
are!  .  .  .  Won't  you  please  come  nearer?  .  .  . 
How  tired  we  are !  .  .  .  How  weary  we  are !  .  .  . 
Mam'selle  Anne !  .  .  .  won't  you  please  tell  us  a 
story?" 

"A  pretty  story?"  she  would  ask. 

"The  prettiest  you  know." 

"Just  wait  a  minute;  I  will  read  over  to  you  your 
mother's  letter." 

In  the  evening  before  leaving  the  ward  she  never 
forgot  to  say  good-night  to  every  one ;  she  knew 
that  men,  just  like  children,  sleep  better  when  a 
woman's  hand  touches  the  sheets  around  them.  She 
went  to  each  bed  and  with  her  soft,  sweet  voice  had 
a  kind  word  for  every  one. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  163 

"Good-night,  my  poor  sick  arm  ...  so  long, 
you  from  the  south  .  .  .  Good-by,  poor  wounded 
shoulder  .  .  .  Good-night,  Gaspard,  and  don't  move." 

Gaspard  replied: 

"I'm  going  right  back  into  my  shell  like  a  snail; 
that's  my  business." 

She  smiled  pleasantly  at  the  men  as  she  went  out 
of  the  ward. 

No  sooner  had  she  closed  the  door  than  the  work- 
man, the  young  boy  soldier,  as  well  as  those  who 
were  fathers  of  large  families  agreed  with  Gaspard: 

"She's  a  wonder!" 

After  which  they  fell  asleep  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible, as  if  they  were  eager  to  get  over  the  night  in 
a  hurry  so  as  to  see  her  again  in  the  morning. 

The  second  of  these  women  was  just  as  deserving. 

With  its  long  row  of  beds  there  is  probably  noth- 
ing quite  so  monotonous  as  a  hospital  ward.  .  .  . 
But  as  soon  as  this  woman  entered  the  ward  was 
transformed  into  a  real  bedroom.  She  opened  the 
windows  to  the  rays  of  the  sun  and  generally 
brought  with  her  an  armful  of  fresh  flowers.  She 
filled  the  room  with  an  atmosphere  of  charm  and  in- 
timacy immediately  after  passing  through  the  door. 

Her  name  was  Madam  Arnaud.  She  was  married 
and  also  a  young  mother  and  frequently  spoke  of 
her  children  who  were  at  play  in  the  garden.  One 
could  not  help  thinking  that  if  the  caresses  of  a 


164  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

woman  give  beauty  to  children  her  youngsters  must 
be  exceptionally  graceful.  Ever  since  the  days  of 
Eve  it  has  been  difficult  to  ascertain  whether  a 
woman  who  seems  particularly  charming  is  not  as- 
suming that  air  for  reasons  of  affectation.  Raphael 
might  have  said,  concerning  this  woman:  "No  .  .  . 
I  prefer  the  Virgins."  But  Reynolds  would  have 
insisted  on  painting  her.  Contrary  to  the  other  one, 
this  woman  was  not  all  simplicity.  There  was  some 
natural  nobility  in  her  carriage  and  her  refinement 
seemed  somewhat  studied.  She  came  from  a  very 
good  family  and  had  been  educated  in  accordance 
with  her  position.  She  was  the  kind  of  a  woman 
one  could  picture  in  a  beautiful  park  amid  high 
trees,  well  kept  lawns  and  beautiful  flowers.  It  is 
a  difficult  matter  to  improve  one's  dress  when  wear- 
ing the  white  uniform  of  a  nurse.  But  when  the 
neck  is  white  and  the  foot  small  there  is  room  for 
some  redeeming  features.  Madam  Arnaud  knew  the 
advantage  of  a  pretty  collar,  showing  just  enough 
of  a  snow  white  neck,  and  on  her  feet  she  wore  thin 
shoes,  showing  a  tiny  bit  of  a  pretty  stocking  and 
a  well  shaped  ankle. 

When  she  went  by  the  soldiers  did  not  call  her, 
but  admired  her  as  she  passed  along  the  ward. 

She  did  not  have  to  be  called,  however,  for  she 
always  came  to  the  men  and  never  left  their  side 
before  doing  some  kind  action.  In  an  empty  glass 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  165 

at  the  bedside  of  one  of  the  men  she  placed  a  pretty 
rose.  To  another  she  said:  "Raise  your  head  and 
I  will  change  your  pillow  slip."  The  man  would 
beam  with  gratitude  and  rest  his  face  on  the  clean 
linen,  murmuring:  "Thank  you  .  .  .  thank  you 
.  .  .  madame  .  .  ."  and  could  find  nothing  else  to 
say,  for  it  seemed  too  little  to  tell  her: 

"How  good  you  are!"  Happy,  indeed,  were  the 
men  whom  she  assisted  with  her  fine,  delicate 
hands ! 

She  was  a  charming  young  mother,  eager  to  assist 
her  patients  at  all  times.  She  treated  the  wounded 
soldiers  as  if  they  were  children,  holding  them  up  in 
her  arms  while  their  wounds  were  being  dressed  or 
while  they  were  eating,  saying  gently:  "Rest  your 
head  upon  me  .  .  ."  The  man,  deeply  moved  by  her 
kindness,  bashfully  said:  "Oh,  madame,  I  am  not 
hungry !"  .  .  .  but  she  would  accept  no  such  excuse, 
replying:  "Come  on,  now,  just  try  this  soup;  you 
will  surely  like  it."  The  more  the  soldier  turned  his 
head  away  the  more  insistent  she  became.  "I  can't 
do  it,"  said  the  patient,  but  she  looked  him  straight 
in  the  eyes,  and  pushing  the  spoon  into  his  mouth, 
replied :  "A  Frenchman  can  always  do  what  he  wants 
to  do." 

After  Mme.  Arnaud  left  the  ward  no  one  had  any- 
thing to  say  about  her,  not  even  Gaspard,  who  was 
generally  ever  ready  with  some  witty  remark.  The 


166  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

men  remained  silent  in  order  to  be  able  to  think  of 
her. 

The  only  way  they  could  forget  her  was  when 
Mile.  Viette,  the  third  of  these  women,  came  in.  This 
young  girl,  better  than  any  one,  personified  life. 

She  was  of  small  stature,  but  well  proportioned; 
ever  wideawake,  bright,  sweet  and  kind,  she  had  a 
great  big  heart  and  was  always  ready  to  give  any- 
thing at  the  slightest  request.  She  was  a  subject 
of  great  wonder  to  Gaspard.  He  adored  Mile.  Anne 
and  dreamed  of  Mme.  Arnaud,  but  was  deeply  im- 
pressed by  all  the  bright  cheerfulness  of  this  little 
woman,  a  real  woman  of  France.  One  day,  unable 
to  conceal  his  curiosity  any  longer,  he  asked  her: 

"You're  from  Paris,  aren't  you,  mam'selle?" 

She  was  not;  she  came  from  Anjou  and  had  been 
brought  up  in  this  quiet  and  happy  province,  and 
she  so  informed  Gaspard  with  so  bright  a  smile  in 
her  eyes  and  so  frank  a  laugh  that  for  the  first  time 
he  wondered  whether  there  really  was  in  any  part  of 
France  any  place  better  than  his  own  Paris. 

The  truth  was  that  these  two,  so  different  in  ap- 
pearance, were  close  to  each  other  at  heart.  Both 
were  equally  proud,  but  their  pride  was  of  a  high 
order.  Never  would  he  have  said:  "How  I  suffer" 
.  .  .  when  she  bent  over  him,  removing  with  her 
gentle,  soft  hands  the  bandages  enveloping  his  body 
and  sticking  to  his  flesh.  And  when  at  meal  time 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  167 

she  brought  him  some  fruit  specially  selected  for 
him,  she  appeared  to  take  it  at  random  from  the 
basket  and  was  careful  not  to  let  him  see  the  truth. 

Every  day  brought  to  the  wounded  two  delight- 
ful and  beautiful  minutes,  the  break  of  dawn  and 
her  arrival  in  the  ward.  It  was  as  if  a  refreshing 
breeze  swept  through  the  room.  She  appeared  as 
pretty  and  fresh  as  the  morning  itself.  Her  smiling 
eyes  seemed  to  say:  "What  are  you  all  doing  there 
in  your  beds?"  and  the  men  never  were  more  con- 
scious of  their  wounds. 

Her  hair  was  strikingly  fair  and  small  curls  ap- 
peared on  both  sides  of  her  white  cap.  All  day  long 
she  tried  to  induce  these  curls  to  return  within  the 
cap,  but  in  vain.  Around  her  neck  she  wore  a  tiny 
gold  chain  from  which  a  medal  was  suspended.  She 
was  ever  amusing,  ever  alert  and  bright. 

One  of  her  duties  consisted  in  taking  care  of  the 
linen  closet  where  she  piled  up  carefully  handker- 
chiefs and  sheets.  The  closet  was  so  big  that  she 
disappeared  completely  while  at  work  there,  and 
when  the  sun  was  shining  brightly  through  the  win- 
dows she  presented  so  pleasing  a  sight  that  it  seemed 
that  only  a  young  girl  with  golden  hair  could  ever 
be  expected  to  do  that  work  in  a  satisfactory 
manner. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  she  had  a  hand  in  everything 
ever  done  in  the  ward.  Nothing  was  done  without 


168  PRIVATE    OASPARD 

her.  She  was  so  quick  in  her  actions  and  thought 
of  everything  before  any  one  else.  If  perchance  one 
of  the  wounded  remembered  something  which  she  had 
forgotten  she  could  read  his  thoughts  in  his  eyes 
and  immediately  inquired:  "What  have  I  forgot- 
ten?" remembering  at  the  same  time  before  the  pa- 
tient could  remind  her. 

For  her  own  patients  she  would  pick  out  the 
softest  sheets,  with  a  word  of  apology:  "They  may 
be  somewhat  old  .  .  ."  In  October  when  the  weather 
grew  chilly  she  gave  them  lukewarm  water,  inquiring 
at  the  same  time  whether  they  objected  to  this  favor. 
From  her  home  she  often  brought  fruits,  candies 
and  pictures,  and  although  her  hands  were  small 
they  were  just  big  enough  to  conceal  some  pleasant 
surprise  for  the  men.  Many  of  her  kind  actions 
were  performed  secretly,  so  no  one  but  the  bene- 
ficiary could  see  what  she  was  bringing  him,  but 
every  one  of  her  actions  revealed  the  kindness  of  her 
heart.  Her  pure,  gentle  soul,  her  girlish  sweetness 
caused  Gaspard  to  remark: 

"That  little  woman  is  a  darling  .  .  .  When  I  get 
back  home  I  will  send  her  some  souvenirs." 

These  three  women,  far  from  interfering  with  each 
other,  worked  wonderfully  together.  Mile.  Anne's 
sweet,  charitable  voice  was  a  wonderful  consolation 
to  those  who,  severely  wounded,  were  thinking  of 
death.  Mme.  Arnaud's  cheerful  voice  and  charming 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  169 

appearance  had  remarkable  effects  among  those  who 
were  about  to  recover.  Mile.  Viette  finally  was  a 
living  image  of  the  great  joys  of  life  which  worked 
wonders  among  the  convalescent. 

The  first  one  they  kissed  when  they  felt  death 
awaiting  them.  As  to  the  second  one  the  men  could 
not  repress  a  secret  desire  to  kiss  her  hands.  And 
the  third  made  Gaspard  think  he  would  like  to  take 
her  out  for  a  walk. 

All  the  time  Gaspard  was  in  the  hospital  it  was 
doubtful  whether  he  was  being  taken  care  of  or 
whether  he  was  caring  for  the  others. 

After  three  days  spent  in  bed  he  got  up  and  al- 
though completely  exhausted  they  would  have  had 
to  tie  him  down  had  they  wished  to  keep  him  quiet. 
He  said  to  Mile.  Anne: 

"It's  all  over  .  .  .  My  pains  have  disappeared; 
.  .  .  Honest,  it's  all  over  .  .  ." 

Limping  heavily,  he  made  a  complete  tour  of  the 
entire  place,  which  he  had  nicknamed  "the  repair 
shop."  He  went  through  the  chapel,  the  cellars  and 
the  kitchens,  the  gardens,  the  pharmacy  and  the 
linen  room  and  came  back  well  informed  as  to  where 
his  services  would  be  most  useful. 

In  the  evening  he  could  be  seen  peeling  potatoes 
in  the  company  of  a  nun  who  couldn't  help  laughing 
while  listening  to  his  stories. 

"All  I  like  is  work,  believe  me;  I  belong  wherever 


170  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

there  is  something  to  be  done.  ...  If  God  had  made 
an  oyster  of  me  I  would  have  died  in  my  shell.  .  .  . 
I  couldn't  live  without  some  kind  of  work  .  .  .  and 
a  lot  of  it  too.  .  .  .  Paris !  There's  the  place !  .  .  . 
And  how  about  you,  sister?" 

The  following  day  he  was  the  one  who  heated  the 
water  for  the  men's  footbaths  and  raked  the  garden 
and  even  peeled  all  the  vegetables  for  the  soup.  .  .  . 
But  it  would  be  difficult  to  enumerate  all  the  things 
he  did — sweeping  the  floors,  cooking  the  meals,  shav- 
ing the  men  .  .  .  while  his  wound  was  being  treated. 
He  amused  even  the  nurses,  who  in  the  beginning 
objected  to  his  activity,  fearing  it  would  interfere 
with  his  recovery.  One  day  one  of  the  nurses  said: 

"Well,  you're  getting  better,"  to  which  he  replied : 

"Do  you  know  why  I'm  getting  better?  I'll  tell 
you.  The  old  doctor  said  to  me:  *You,  my  boy,  are 
recovering  quickly  because  you  were  not  addicted  to 
drink.  .  .  .'  Ah!  my  friend,  what  a  joke!  .  .  .  Poor 
man!  If  there  were  as  many  children  in  France  as 
I  have  swallowed  glasses  of  absinthe  there  would  be 
no  talk  of  falling  birth  rate.  .  .  .  Alcohol  is  just 
what  is  helping  me!" 

One  of  the  Red  Cross  attendants  was  particularly 
interested  in  Gaspard  and  they  soon  became  close 
friends.  In  civil  life  he  had  been  a  notary's  clerk, 
and  although  this  was  apparently  the  result  of  a 
mistake  no  one  could  regret  it,  for  with  his  bright, 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  171 

jovial  face  he  encouraged  all  the  wounded  and 
seemed  to  say :  "Just  look  how  good  it  is  to  be  alive !" 

He  was  the  one  who  told  them  every  morning  that 
the  war  would  be  over  in  a  month  and  amused  them 
with  his  funny  stories  of  the  fighting.  While  stand- 
ing one  day  at  the  side  of  a  dying  man's  bed  he 
said,  although  deeply  moved: 

"Poor  chap !  If  I  could  only  make  him  laugh 
once  more  .  .  ." 

The  living  are  judged  according  to  their  attitude 
toward  those  who  are  about  to  die,  for  they  need 
help  more  than  any  one.  After  seeing  real  fighting 
and  real  battles  men  feel  nothing  but  contempt 
toward  those  who  are  afraid  of  gunfire.  The  clerk, 
however,  was  somewhat  alarmed  at  the  thought  of 
the  firing  line. 

The  day  after  his  arrival  at  the  hospital  Gaspard 
had  said  to  the  former  clerk: 

"Why  are  you  here?  You  are  big  and  healthy. 
Why  aren't  you  out  killing  boches?" 

"What  do  you  think?"  replied  the  other.  "I'm 
waiting  to  be  called  .  .  .  They  called  you,  didn't 
they?" 

"You  bet  they  called  me,"  said  Gaspard  with  a 
slight  expression  of  contempt.  "I  was  called  out 
right  at  the  start." 

But  later  on  he  learned  to  know  and  to  appreciate 
this  man  who  when  death  was  sneaking  around  stood 


172  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

between  it  and  its  projected  victim.  He  never  left 
the  bedside  and  never  stopped  consoling  the  man 
about  to  pass  away. 

"It's  nothing,  old  pal.  .  .  .  You're  much  better 
now  .  .  ." 

Gaspard  said  to  himself: 

"Notaries  and  solicitors  are  a  lot  of  thieves  .  .  . 
charge  you  five  francs  to  write  a  couple  of  lines 
.  .  .  But  this  one  here  is  different.  I  can  talk  to 
him.  .  .  ." 

Soon  the  other  man  became  his  confidant,  giving 
him  the  place  in  his  heart  formerly  occupied  by 
Burette,  for  he  always  selected  as  his  friends  men 
who  knew  how  to  talk  and  think.  On  the  other  hand 
this  notary's  clerk  had  a  great  deal  of  originality 
and  was  often  the  hero  of  the  most  amusing  adven- 
tures. 

One  morning  the  men  learned  suddenly  of  the 
forthcoming  visit  of  a  General  on  an  inspection  tour. 

"Well,  if  he's  going  to  inspect  me,"  said  Dudo- 
gnon,  the  clerk,  "I'm  off  for  the  front  to-night!" 

"Just  wait,"  said  Gaspard.     "And  don't  worry." 

The  chief  surgeon,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  had  al- 
ready thought  of  the  clerk.  He  came  in  on  the  run, 
shouting : 

"Get  into  bed  and  quick !" 

"All  right,  doctor " 

"Pull  up  your  covers  and  close  your  eyes!'* 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  173 

"Yes,  doctor." 

"I'll  tell  him  you  have  a  very  high  fever." 

"Thanks,  doctor." 

In  a  minute  the  clerk  was  undressed  and  lying 
between  the  sheets. 

A  motor  car  could  be  heard  in  the  front  yard. 
The  General!  The  clerk  was  in  the  bed,  with  a 
painful  look  in  his  eyes  when  the  door  was  opened. 
It  was  Mme.  Arnaud,  who  came  in  running. 

"He  is  in  bed!  .  .  .  Get  up  quick!  .  .  .  Who 
told  you  to  go  to  bed?" 

"The  doctor." 

"And  what  if  they  want  to  see  your  wounds?" 

"My  wounds?     Ah,  yes,  my  wounds." 

"Get  up !    Get  up !" 

He  jumped  from  the  bed  and  slipped  on  his 
trousers  in  a  rush. 

"What  will  I  do  now?" 

"You  must  hide  yourself  somewhere." 

Gaspard  was  at  hand.     He  said  simply: 

"Come  along.    I  know  where  to  put  you." 

"Where,  then?" 

"In  the  broom  closet." 

"In  the  broom " 

There  was  no  discussion  possible.  With  his  shoes 
in  his  hands  he  followed  Gaspard,  who  locked  him 
in  the  closet  and  took  the  key  away. 

Mme.  Arnaud  cleared  up  the  situation. 
13 


174  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

The  most  honest  women  are  wonderful  when  it 
comes  to  remaining  calm  and  quiet  when  the  fate  of 
a  man  locked  up  in  a  closet  is  at  stake.  They  can 
retain  the  most  natural  expression  on  their  faces 
and  can  lie  with  the  coolest  audacity.  Mme.  Arnaud, 
pretty  as  ever,  stood  beside  the  General,  an  old  man 
with  trembling  voice.  Arriving  before  the  empty 
bed  she  said: 

"That  patient,  Mr.  Inspector,  is  where  even  kings 
must  go  afoot." 

"That's  his  right,"  said  the  General  with  a  smile. 
"Where  was  he  wounded?" 

"He's  a  notary  clerk,"  said  Mme.  Arnaud  without 
trace  of  a  smile. 

The  General,  surprised,  concluded  that  Mme.  Ar- 
naud, as  well  as  himself,  was  hard  of  hearing,  and 
went  on.  He  even  passed  in  front  of  the  broom 
closet  and  then  went  out.  His  departure  was  a 
great  relief  for  all  the  men,  who  were  worried  about 
Dudognon.  .  .  .  They  decided  to  make  him  pay  for 
the  trouble  he  had  given  them  and  called  all  the 
nurses  to  watch  him  come  out  of  the  closet. 

His  face  was  comical  when  he  came  out.  He  was 
somewhat  ashamed  and  winked  his  eyes  as  he  said  to 
Gaspard,  as  though  angry  at  him  for  humiliating 
him: 

"This  is  no  life.  I'd  rather  go  out  and  fight ! 
I'm  going  to  write  to  the  commander  of  the  army 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  175 

corps  .  .  .  I'm  not  fit  to  play  hide  and  seek  any 
longer  .  .  ." 

After  which  ,  .  .  well,  he  spoke  to  Mme.  Arnaud 
and  found  her  as  charming  as  ever  .  .  .  Then  he 
looked  at  the  papers:  "The  Germans  have  suffered 
great  losses  and  our  own  casualties  are  important." 
This  news  gave  him  food  for  thought.  .  .  . 

So  he  resumed  his  work  of  helping  the  wounded, 
forgetting  all  his  anger  .  .  .  and  Gaspard  helped 
him  to  do  it. 

Both  had  taken  a  liking  to  a  young  sergeant  of 
the  Colonial  Infantry  who  was  slowly  dying  as  the 
result  of  a  bullet  in  the  spine.  He  was  also  a  Pa- 
risian, from  the  Faubourg  Saint- Antoine ;  and  for 
that  reason  alone  Gaspard  would  have  given  him 
his  blood  at  the  very  first  request. 

One  of  his  comrades  had  told  how,  five  minutes 
before  receiving  the  fatal  wound,  a  shell  fragment 
had  struck  his  foot  and  forgetting  his  pain,  he  had 
exclaimed:  "Right  on  my  corn,  too!" 

Gaspard  had  recognized  in  him  a  brother. 

The  poor  youth  remained  motionless  on  his  cot, 
looking  straight  ahead  with  a  pitiful  stare. 

He  had  been  brought  in  during  the  night,  at  two 
o'clock,  bleeding  and  exhausted.  Mile.  Anne  had 
said  to  him : 

"Just  try  to  drink  a  sip  .  .  .  It's  hot;  it  will  do 
you  good." 


176  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

His  only  reply  was: 

"I'd  rather  have  a  piece  of  paper  to  write  to  my 
mother." 

After  writing  his  letter  he  had  taken  a  drink  and 
had  fallen  asleep  .  .  .  sleeping  about  thirty  hours. 
His  wound  was  horrible  and  his  fever  burning,  but 
fatigue  overcame  everything  else  and  he  fell  asleep. 
From  time  to  time  they  moved  him  and  dressed  his 
wound,  giving  him  a  refreshing  drink.  On  these 
occasions  he  opened  his  eyes  and  murmured: 
"Thanks.  .  .  .  You  are  very  kind,"  after  which  his 
head  fell  back  to  the  pillow.  He  seemed  to  want  to 
make  up  all  at  once  for  his  two  months  of  sleepless 
nights  in  one  of  those  peaceful  sleeps  which  only 
children  and  soldiers  know. 

He  was  awakened  by  his  mother. 

No  words  could  describe  his  mother  as  she  came 
in.  She  closed  her  eyes  as  she  entered  the  place  and 
said  to  the  sister: 

"My  son  is  here  .  .  .  Pierre  Fontaine.  ...  I 
have  come  from  Paris  to  see  him." 

Her  voice  revealed  all  the  anguish  and  also  all 
the  authority  peculiar  to  all  mothers.  Other 
women  are  more  timid,  more  bashful,  but  a  mother 
wants  to  know  at  once:  "Where  is  he?  What  is 
the  matter  with  him?  What  have  they  done  to 
him?" 

It  was  Gaspard  who  replied: 


PRIVATE    GASPARB  HI 

"Don't  worry,  madam.  The  doctor  says  he's  all 
right." 

"Really  ?"  said  the  mother.  And  in  her  eyes  could 
be  seen  the  wonderful  flame  which  appears  when  a 
woman  sees  for  the  first  time  the  baby  to  which  she 
has  given  birth. 

Tears  soon  followed  and  she  went  on,  with  a  ner- 
vous laugh: 

"Where  can  I  see  him?     This  way?" 

She  was  a  woman  of  the  people,  about  forty  years 
of  age,  dressed  in  black,  but  she  must  have  been  very 
pretty  in  her  younger  days,  for  despite  the  gray 
hair  at  her  temples  she  seemed  still  quite  young,  with 
not  a  wrinkle  on  her  forehead  and  bright,  shining 
eyes.  Her  waist  was  that  of  a  woman  of  thirty. 

Gaspard  realized  how  devoted  the  boy  must  be  to 
such  a  mother. 

He  offered  to  take  her  around,  but  she  was  too 
impatient  to  wait  and  at  each  turn  in  the  long  halls 
would  say :  "How  far  it  is  ...  How  big  these  hos- 
pitals are  .  .  ." 

At  last  Gaspard  opened  a  door,  saying:  "It's 
here."  She  replied  quickly:  "I  see  him!" 

Without  looking  anywhere  else  she  had  found 
him;  her  eyes  had  not  hesitated  one  second  among 
the  thirty  beds.  Paying  no  attention  whatever  to 
the  others,  she  advanced,  deeply  moved,  but  still  walk- 
ing on  her  tiptoes,  for  she  had  understood  that  he 


178  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

was  asleep.  She  stopped  before  her  son's  bed,  out 
of  breath,  and  raised  her  hand  to  her  waist  as 
though  to  say:  "Come  on,  my  heart  ...  be  quiet 
.  .  .  can't  you  see  he  is  alive!" 

Mile.  Anne  brought  over  a  chair,  but  the  mother 
did  not  see  her.  Quietly  she  bent  over  her  child's 
head.  Her  little  handbag  fell  on  the  bed.  She 
slipped  her  arm  under  the  pillow  and  drawing  it 
toward  her  she  kissed  the  boy  tenderly,  slowly,  mur- 
muring: "My  little  one  .  .  .  my  little  boy  .  .  ." 
His  mother's  kiss  caused  him  to  move  and  suddenly 
he  opened  his  great  big  eyes,  stupefied  and  so  over- 
come with  joy  that  he  could  hardly  speak.  She 
stood  away  for  a  second,  then  took  him  in  her  arms 
again  and  for  a  few  minutes  mingled  sobs  and 
laughter  were  all  that  could  be  heard. 

"My  little  boy  .  .  .  My  Pierre  .  .  .  My  Pierrot 
.  .  .  My  own  boy  .  .  .  Tell  me,  do  you  suffer?  .  .  . 
Yes,  it's  you  .  .  .  Pve  got  you  back  .  .  .  you've 
only  got  one  wound  .  .  .  Tell  me  the  truth  .  .  . 
How  he  has  changed !  .  .  .  Oh !  my  darling,  to  have 
you  back  again  ...  to  hold  you  tight !  .  .  .  It's 
horrible  down  there,  isn't  it?  But  here  you  are  .  .  . 
you're  back  .  .  .  and  you're  alive  .  .  .  You  can  see 
me  .  .  .  Kiss  me  .  .  .  kiss  me  .  .  .  how  good  it  is ! 
.  .  .  now,  don't  move.  I'm  so  happy.  I've  lived 
such  terrible  weeks  I  thought  I  was  going  insane 
.  .  .  But  God,  how  happy  I  am !  ...  so  happy  .  .  . 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  179 

Don't  worry,  I'm  crying  just  because  I'm  so  happy. 
.  .  .  Oh !  my  boy,  my  own  boy." 

"Beg  pardon,  madame,"  said  a  voice  behind  her. 

She  turned  quickly. 

"I  just  want  to  put  this  hot  water  on  his  table," 
said  an  attendant. 

She  moved  away  for  a  few  seconds,  then  ,  re- 
turned. 

"How  funny  you  are  with  your  beard,"  she  ex- 
claimed. "There's  a  little  bit  of  everything,  light, 
dark  and  red  hair.  You  are  horrible !  I  love  you." 

He  was  unable  to  refrain  from  smiling  at  this 
outburst,  to  which  he  replied: 

"Well,  at  least  the  nurses  won't  fall  in  love 
with  me." 

She  went  on: 

"But  you  have  had  a  look  at  yourself?  Oh  my 
poilu!" 

Again  she  covered  him  with  caresses. 

Concealing  as  best  he  could  the  pains  he  was  suf- 
fering, he  said: 

"When  did  you  receive  my  letter?  .  .  .  How  is  it 
that  you're  already  here?" 

Drying  her  eyes  she  began  to  laugh  again. 

"Did  you  expect  me  to  wait  until  New  Year's 
Day?  I  might  have  brought  you  your  Christmas 
presents  at  the  same  time.  You  foolish  boy !  If  you 
only  knew  what  I  have  gone  through.  .  .  .  While 


180  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

you  were  fighting  and  didn't  notice  the  time  flying 
by,  I  spent  many  horrible  days  all  alone  at 
the  house  .  .  .  and  the  nights  .  .  .  well,  I  stayed 
awake,  just  as  you  did.  ..." 

He  squeezed  her  hand  in  silence,  then  said: 

"And  how  about  papa?" 

"Your  father  must  be  all  right,  as  I  wrote  to  you. 
He  is  still  in  the  Meuse  district." 

He  made  an  effort  to  explain  his  question  better: 

"Have  you  heard  from  him  recently?" 

"Quite  recently." 

Her  face  was  scarlet  red  as  she  quickly  changed 
the  conversation. 

"Tell  me  just  what  is  the  matter  with  you. 
Where  were  you  hit?  In  the  back?  .  .  .  Has  the 
bullet  been  extracted?" 

He  replied  in  a  sorrowful  voice: 

"It's  not  serious  .  .  .  but  it's  going  to  take  a 
long  time.  .  .  ." 

"So  much  the  better.  They  can't  take  you  away 
in  two  weeks.  You  need  some  rest.  Tell  me  all 
about  the  battle." 

He  wiped  his  forehead. 

"Which  battle?" 

"The  last  one." 

"That  one  isn't  worth  listening  to  ...  nothing 
funny  about  it." 

"Funny?     Well,  I  should  hope  not!     But  tell  me 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  181 

all  about  it.  I'm  your  mother  and  I  won't  tell  any 
one.  Was  it  horrible?" 

"No  .  .  .  No,  it  wasn't  horrible;  one  gets  used 
to  it." 

"Of  course  you  would  .  .  .  you  are  a  hero,  I 
know  it;  I  am  sure  of  it.  I  am  so  proud  of  my 
boy." 

"Mother  .   .  .  they  can  hear  us." 

"Well,  did  I  say  anything  wrong?" 

"Tell  me  all  about  papa." 

"Your  father?     Let  me  explain  to  you." 

He  looked  her  straight  in  the  face. 

"You're  hiding  something  .  .  .  what  has  hap- 
pened?" 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  without  speak- 
ing, and  then  said  in  a  trembling  voice: 

"Your  father  was  wounded,  just  like  you  .  .  . 
only  slightly  wounded." 

"Wounded?     When?     Where?" 

"Just  like  you,  I  tell  you  ...  I  heard  from  him 
at  the  same  time." 

"At  the  same  time?" 

"The  day  before." 

"Did  you  see  him?" 

"No." 

"Why?    Why  not?" 

She  drew  a  chair  up  to  the  bed,  and  looking 
straight  at  his  eyes  said; 


182  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"Listen  .  .  .  listen,  boy  .  .  .  you  will  under- 
stand. I  was  all  ready.  I  had  packed  my  bag  and 
I  had  just  one  hour  to  spare  before  catching  the 
train  which  was  to  take  me  to  his  side,  when  they 
brought  me  your  letter,  my  boy's  letter,  whose  life 
is  my  life.  Just  think,  what  would  have  become  of 
me  if  they  had  killed  you?" 

"Well?" 

"Well,  I  couldn't  be  everywhere  at  the  same  time. 
I  could  no  longer  go  to  see  your  father.  I  told  his 
mother,  and  she  is  on  her  way  to  see  him  now." 

"The  poor,  old  woman !" 

"She  didn't  seem  old  when  she  was  thinking  of 
going  to  see  her  son." 

Pie  was  deeply  moved  by  the  news. 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  his  wound?" 

"No.     I  don't  know." 

"That's  horrible,"  he  said  in  a  tragic  voice. 

Plis  mother,  however,  exclaimed  violently: 

"Did  I  know  anything  about  your  wound?  You 
wrote  to  me,  but  how  did  I  know  that  you  were  not 
lying?  .  .  .  My  God,  how  I  suffered  .  .  .  pains  not 
only  in  my  heart  but  all  over  my  body  .  .  .  you  are 
my  child.  ...  I  made  a  man  of  you  .  .  .  you  belong 
to  me  .  .  .  kiss  me  .  .  .  kiss  me  again.  ...  It  is 
three  months  since  I  have  had  a  chance  to  kiss  you !" 

"Excuse  me,  madam,"  said  the  attendant,  "I  must 
take  the  hot  water  away." 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  183 

Three  days  went  by  and  the  mother  was  compelled 
to  leave.  She  wanted  to  hear  from  her  husband ;  she 
had  asked  a  neighbor  to  take  care  of  her  little  girl 
and  the  family  business  required  immediate  attention, 
so  she  went  back  to  Paris.  Before  she  went  away  she 
gave  her  son  a  long,  tender  and  heart-rending  look, 
for  she  knew  well  that  he  was  seriously  wounded. 

She  told  this  to  Dudognon  on  her  way  down  stairs, 
but  he  reassured  her  with  his  customary  kindness. 

"I  believe  he  will  get  over  it.  ...  I  am  sure  of  it, 
madam " 

She  was  no  longer  listening  to  him.  She  was  lean- 
ing against  the  wall  sobbing  pitifully  and  saying: 

"We  brought  him  up  so  well.  ...  It  is  horrible 
to  take  young,  well-educated  boys  and  kill  them  like 
that  .  .  .  why,  we  are  just  plain  workers,  but  he  ... 
he  was  interested  in  so  many  things.  .  .  .  Oh,  my 
God !  .  .  .  My  God !  How  unhappy  I  am.  .  .  .  He 
read  so  many  books,  and  if  you  had  only  seen  some 
of  their  titles  you  couldn't  help  respecting  him.  .  .  ." 

The  poor  woman  came  back  a  week  later.  Her  boy 
had  gone  through  a  terrific  change ;  the  lower  part  of 
his  body  was  paralyzed  and  the  attack  was  spreading 
quickly.  His  lungs  were  badly  affected  and  he  could 
hardly  breathe. 

When  his  mother  spoke  to  him  this  time  he  was 
hardly  able  to  reply.  He  motioned  to  her  that  he 
was  glad  to  hear  that  his  father  was  out  of  danger. 


184  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

She  remained  two  entire  days  at  his  bedside,  watch- 
ing him.  Again  she  went  away,  worn  out  by  her 
sleepless  nights.  She  left  him  two  oranges,  which  he 
never  touched. 

Dudognon,  who  sympathized  with  the  unfortunate 
woman,  accompanied  her  to  the  gate  of  the  hospital. 

Meanwhile  Gaspard  went  to  her  son's  bedside  and 
said : 

"How  are  you  to-day,  pal?  .  .  .  How  do  you  feel? 
I  came  up  in  a  hurry  to  tell  you.  ...  I  heard  the 
doctor  talking  on  the  stairway.  .  .  .  He  was  saying 
that  they're  pulling  you  through  all  right,  and  that 
it  won't  be  anything  at  all,  only  it's  going  to  take 
time  .  .  .  don't  worry,  pal,  you'll  go  back  to  the 
Faubourg  Saint-Antoine." 

"Do  you  really  think  so?"  asked  the  sergeant. 

"I  am  sure  of  it,  I  tell  you  .  .  .  and  you'll  see 
the  Bastille,  the  motor  buses  and  the  taxicabs  .  .  . 
don't  be  afraid,  boy,  it  isn't  as  easy  as  that  to  die 
when  one  comes  from  Paris." 

"May  be  ...  but  oh!  how  I  suffer  during  the 
night,"  said  the  sergeant. 

"During  the  night?  Just  wait  a  minute  and  I'll 
tell  the  sister." 

He  spoke  to  her,  but  she  could  do  nothing.  She 
was  giving  all  her  time  and  care  to  the  poor  wounded 
boy  and  in  the  course  of  her  eight-hour  day  she 
could  be  seen  bending  over  his  bed  a  hundred  times. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  185 

But  it  is  useless  to  struggle  with  death  and  death  was 
waiting  for  him,  gripping  him  a  little  bit  tighter  each 
day. 

The  fatal  evening  finally  came.  His  mother  was 
in  Paris.  The  nurse  called  for  the  priest. 

A  screen  had  been  placed  around  his  bed,  as  is 
usually  done  in  the  case  of  dying  patients,  and  the 
other  men  could  see  neither  the  sergeant  nor  the 
priest  nor  the  sisters.  On  the  opposite  wall,  however, 
their  shadows  could  be  seen,  and  the  impression  in 
the  dim  evening  light  was  terrifying.  Gaspard  and 
Dudognon  were  overcome  with  emotion  and  were  un- 
able to  utter  a  word. 

The  sergeant's  agony  continued  for  a  long  while. 
His  mind  was  quite  clear  and  he  seemed  to  be  cling- 
ing to  life  with  all  the  desperate  hope  of  dying  men 
who  believe  that  they  might  be  saved  could  they  only 
survive  until  the  following  morning.  But  the  follow- 
ing morning  was  far,  very  far  away.  .  .  .  Every 
minute  he  wanted  to  know  the  time,  and  the  nun  re- 
plied with  everlasting  patience  in  a  sweet  and  soft 
voice.  Toward  midnight  he  was  half  choking  as  he 
said: 

"Is  it  four  o'clock  yet?" 

"Soon,  my  boy,"  said  the  nun;  "just  be  brave  and 
we  will  soon  be  there.  .  .  ." 

Suddenly  a  thought  flashed  through  his  mind  and 
he  began  to  cry : 


186  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"It  isn't  four  o'clock.  .  .  .  We  hear  the  roosters 
at  four  o'clock.  .  .  ." 

Gaspard,  who  was  unable  to  sleep,  overheard  these 
last  words  from  his  bed.  He  jumped  up,  threw  off 
the  covers  and,  dressing  hastily,  slipped  out  of  the 
ward. 

And  two  minutes  later  .  .  .  the  rooster  was  heard. 

It  was  a  peculiar  kind  of  rooster,  but  it  served  its 
purpose.  The  sergeant  looked  happy  again. 

"Sister  .  .  .  did  you  hear?" 

"I  told  you  so,"  she  said ;  "it  is  four  o'clock." 

He  had  fully  recovered  his  confidence  and,  still 
full  of  hope,  convinced  that  he  would  live  another 
day,  he  passed  away  calmly  and  quietly,  with  a  smile 
upon  his  face. 

Dudognon  could  have  kissed  Gaspard  had  the  lat- 
ter permitted  him  to  do  so,  but  Gaspard  was  dis- 
gusted because  his  wound  had  reopened  as  a  result  of 
what  he  had  done  for  the  dying  man. 

He  was  compelled  to  go  back  to  bed  at  once,  and 
this  time  it  was  his  turn  to  suffer.  His  fever  was 
very  high,  and  the  doctor  was  furious  the  next  morn- 
ing and  threatened  the  patient  with  severe  punishment 
if  he  moved  from  his  bed  again.  His  greatest  sor- 
row was  to  be  unable  to  attend  his  pal's  funeral,  and 
he  spent  the  day  grumbling,  his  face  buried  in  his 
pillow. 

Dudognon  was  the  first  to  see  the  mother.     He 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  187 

was  eager  to  console  her  and  also  to  tell  her  what 
Gaspard  had  done  for  her  boy. 

This  opportunity,  however,  was  never  given  to 
him. 

When  instead  of  a  wounded  man  she  found  only 
a  cold  body,  when  she  saw  what  was  left  of  her  child, 
this  woman,  in  the  midst  of  her  terrific  despair,  sud- 
denly gave  vent  to  an  outburst  of  hatred  and  bitter 
jealousy  toward  this  other  man  who  looked  so  healthy 
and  was  staying  far  away  from  the  firing  line.  She 
forgot  all  about  his  devotion,  his  care  and  his  kind- 
ness toward  her  boy.  In  her  terrible  suffering  she 
could  see  only  what  was  before  her  at  the  time,  and 
while  tears  were  streaming  down  her  cheeks  she  ex- 
claimed in  a  trembling  voice : 

"And  you?  .  .  .  How  about  you?  .  .  .  Aren't 
you  going  to  fight?" 

To  this  unexpected  question  he  replied : 

"But  I  ...  I  am  a  nurse." 

This  last  word  brought  forth  a  cry  of  rage  from 
the  mother. 

"Nurse !  .  .  .  while  the  others  are  being  killed !  .  .  . 
And  why  wasn't  my  boy  a  nurse?" 

She  stepped  forward  and  went  on  at  the  top  of  her 
voice : 

"Tell  me  ...  tell  me  why  ?  .  .  .  With  your  good 
health  you  stay  here !  .  .  .  Aren't  you  ashamed  of 
yourself?  Do  you  ever  think  of  all  those  who  have 


188  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

died?  .  .  .  How  do  you  feel  about  it?  .  .  .  And  you 
saw  how  my  boy  suffered!  Aren't  you  ashamed  of 
being  what  you  are?  Ah!  If  I  were  a  man  ...  a 
man.  .  .  ." 

She  raised  her  fist  at  him  as  she  turned  away. 

He  came  back  into  the  ward  in  a  pitiful  condition. 
Cold  perspiration  covered  his  forehead  and  his  eyes 
were  full  of  tears. 

He  went  up  to  Gaspard's  bed  and  said  in  a  choking 
voice : 

"That  woman  is  a  brute  .  .  .  because,  you  know 
how  I  watched  over  her  son  and  nursed  him  like  a 
brother,  and  was  right  .with  him  when  he  died.  .  .  . 
I  stayed  to  the  last,  telling  him  he  wasn't  going  to 
die  ...  yes,  she  is  a  brute,  but  after  all  she  is  right 
.  .  .  yes,  yes,  ...  I  have  no  business  to  be  a  nurse 
...  I  am  going  to  write  to  the  commander  ...  I 
am  through  with  this.  I  want  to  go  out  and  fight 
and  take  my  chance  with  the  others.  I  am  not  going 
to  take  any  more  insults  like  that." 

Gaspard  could  say  nothing  in  reply.  The  other 
went  on: 

"I  should  worry  about  good  food  and  a  good  bed. 
...  I  am  through  with  this !" 

A  wounded  man  called  out :    "Nurse !" 

But  Dudognon  was  furious.  "I  am  no  longer  a 
nurse." 

No  one  knew  whether  he  had  again  met  the  charm- 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  189 

ing  Mme.  Arnaud  or  whether  he  had  just  simpty 
driven  the  thought  from  his  mind  and  forgotten  all 
about  it.     At  all  events  in  the  evening  of  the  same 
day  Mile.  Viette,  who  enjoyed  his  company,  found 
him  at  the  bedside  of  one  of  the  wounded  men  to  whom 
he  was  giving  some  medicine.     The  soldier  inquired: 
"Have  you  been  out  there  too?" 
But  this  time  he  replied  without  hesitation : 
"Do  I  look  like  a  man  who  hasn't  been  out  there  ?" 

"Oh!"  said  the  other,  "that  isn't  what  I  meant. 

>» 

"Well,  then,  swallow  your  medicine,"  said  Dudo- 
gnon.  "It  will  make  you  sleep  and  stop  thinking, 
and  that's  what  you  need." 

Mile.  Viette  told  the  story  to  Gaspard  and  both 
laughed.  These  two  were  great  friends.  He  had 
already  told  her  a  number  of  things,  his  business, 
his  life  in  Paris,  his  battle,  the  death  of  Burette  and 
the  heroism  of  Captain  Puche.  On  the  other  hand 
she  often  brought  in  the  newspapers  for  him  and  told 
him  what  her  father  thought  of  the  Germans,  of  the 
victory  of  the  Marne  and  the  destruction  of  the 
Rheims  Cathedral.  Gaspard,  knowing  that  the  young 
girl  came  from  good  stock,  listened  to  her  with  great 
respect  and  was  deeply  impressed  by  the  fact  that 
she  was  not  too  proud  to  talk  to  him. 

One  evening  he  told  her  about  his  mother  and  his 
wife.  He  did  not  tell  her  that  he  wasn't  married,  but 
14 


190  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

spoke  of  the  woman  with  great  respect.  He  hadn't 
seen  her  for  two  months. 

"Of  course  I  didn't  expect  her  to  come  here.  My 
wound  isn't  serious.  It  isn't  worth  while  spending 
the  money  .  .  .  only  ...  if  she  had  come  along 
without  telling  me  I  wouldn't  have  regretted  the 
money." 

Mile.  Viette  listened  to  him  seated  on  a  chair  near 
the  window  through  which  a  garden,  a  real  French 
garden,  could  be  seen.  Long  rows  of  fruit  trees  were 
in  view.  In  the  dim  light  of  the  autumn  evening  Mile. 
Viette  seemed  even  fairer  than  usual.  The  men  were 
peacefully  resting  in  the  other  beds,  and  through  the 
half  open  window  a  nun  could  be  heard  in  the  gar- 
den praying  as  she  went  along. 

Mile.  Viette  was  dreaming  and  Gaspard  sighed. 
She  took  his  hand. 

"Good  night,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  good  night,"  Gaspard  replied. 

After  she  had  left  he  again  thought  of  his  wife. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  nun  came  in. 

Her  name  was  Sister  Venigne.  She  came  into  the 
ward  every  evening  and  her  mere  presence  there  was 
a  great  relief  to  the  wounded,  who  generally  feared 
the  approach  of  night  with  its  suffering,  its  fever  and 
its  nightmares.  She  stepped  through  the  door  and 
called  out,  "Good  evening,"  to  the  men,  who  all  re- 
plied, "Good  evening,  sister." 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  191 

This  little  woman,  slender  and  delicate,  took  the 
place  of  the  three  other  women  who  spent  their  days 
with  the  wounded,  but  she  was  well  able  to  take  care 
of  the  thirty  men  and  had  a  kind  word  for  each  one. 
Had  it  not  been  for  her  the  men  would  have  dreaded 
the  night  more  than  anything  else. 

To  a  soldier  who  has  been  fighting  and  who  is  ex- 
hausted and  weak  nights  are  a  great  source  of  worry. 
Like  a  big,  unhappy  child,  the  soldier  needs  some 
one  to  cheer  him  up.  He  is  not  afraid  to  advance 
under  fire  on  the  battlefield,  but  his  fears  begin  after 
it  is  all  over.  One  of  the  most  impressive  scenes  wit- 
nessed in  a  hospital  is  a  ward  in  which  thirty  men  are 
spending  their  first  night  after  their  return  from  the 
firing  line.  These  men,  who  have  fought  in  different 
engagements,  begin  their  battles  over  again  in  their 
dreams.  Some  believe  themselves  still  in  the  fighting, 
while  others  dream  that  they  have  been  badly 
wounded.  Some  call  out  orders,  while  others  scream 
with  pain.  All  the  time  the  little  nun,  Sister  Venigne, 
would  go  from  one  to  the  other,  stroking  their  heads 
and  endeavoring  to  quiet  them. 

To  one  man  she  would  say,  "Listen,  boy ;  what  are 
you  trying  to  tell  us?  You  are  crazy!"  Then  she 
would  wipe  the  man's  forehead,  fix  his  pillow  and 
covers  and  remain  with  him  until  he  was  again  sleep- 
ing calmly.  As  she  leaned  over  the  men  the  vision 
of  the  great  imaginary  battles  they  were  fighting 


192  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

quickly  faded  away,  and  thanks  to  her  they  were  able 
to  enjoy  a  real  beneficial  sleep  in  which  all  their 
troubles  were  forgotten. 

She  never  rested  until  every  man  was  quietly  asleep, 
and  then  she  would  sit  in  a  big  armchair  beside  a 
small  table  where,  under  a  heavy  shade,  a  small  oil 
lamp  was  burning.  Every  once  in  a  while  a  voice 
would  call  her  and  she  would  immediately  drop  her  ro- 
sary and  hurry  to  the  side  of  the  man  who  wanted  her. 

Gaspard  was  very  fond  of  her.  As  a  matter  of 
fact  Gaspard  was  fond  of  every  one,  including  Mile. 
Viette,  Mme.  Arnaud  and  Mile.  Anne,  and  also  Du- 
dognon.  The  sister  inquired: 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

"I  am  thirsty." 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"An  orangeade." 

"I  haven't  got  any." 

"Well,  then,  a  lemonade." 

"Will  you  promise  to  fall  asleep  if  I  give  it  to 
you?" 

"I  promise  it  on  the  head  of  my  little  boy." 

When  Gaspard  took  the  refreshing  drink  from 
the  nun's  hand  he  consumed  it  slowly,  enjoying  every 
drop,  and  could  hardly  find  words  to  thank  the  good 
woman  who  had  brought  it  to  him.  She  had  hardly 
returned  to  her  armchair  when  another  voice  called 
her,  and  thus  it  went  on  throughout  the  night. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  193 

It  would  be  necessary  to  see  this  woman  at  her 
work  to  be  able  to  understand  and  appreciate  the 
wonders  she  was  accomplishing  and  the  remarkable 
results  she  obtained  during  the  nine  hours  of  the 
night  among  these  poor  devils  who  were  the  victims 
of  the  war. 

Her  eyes  inspired  absolute  confidence,  and  when- 
ever she  told  the  men  that  their  suffering  would  soon 
be  ended  her  words  seemed  to  have  a  remarkably 
soothing  effect.  She  went  from  bed  to  bed  with  the 
same  kind  smile  and  care  for  each  man;  it  could 
hardly  be  said  that  she  walked,  for  she  seemed  really 
to  glide  along  the  floor  of  the  ward.  She  could  be 
seen  but  not  heard  as  she  passed  by. 

Gaspard,  who  had  completely  altered  his  opinion 
concerning  priests  during  the  last  few  weeks,  would 
willingly  have  faced  death  for  this  nun.  He  said  to 
his  comrades : 

"They  are  women  who  only  think  of  helping  others 
.  .  .  and  they  don't  talk  to  you  about  God  either 
.  .  .  they  help  you,  give  you  a  drink  when  you  are 
thirsty  .  .  .  they  are  women  .  .  .  real  women  .  .  . 
just  as  women  ought  to  be." 

"You're  becoming  quite  religious,"  said  Dudognon 
laughingly. 

"I  don't  know  what  I  am  becoming,"  said  Gaspard, 
"but  I  know  what  I  am  talking  about." 

After  he  had  finally   recovered,  after  eight  long 


194  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

weeks  of  care,  he  called  Sister  Venigne  to  his  bedside 
the  night  before  the  date  fixed  for  his  departure.  He 
was  sitting  up  in  his  bed  and  produced  from  under 
the  cover  a  torn  envelope  from  which  he  took  two 
photographs. 

The  nun  looked  at  them  and  said: 
"I  suppose  it's  jour  wife  and  your  child?" 
"Yes,"    replied    Gaspard    with    pride,    carefully 
watching  the  woman's  face  to  see  what  she  thought 
of  the  pictures.     She  looked  at  them  several  minutes 
and  then  said : 

"Well,  she  is  very  pretty,  your  wife  .  .  .  and  your 
little  boy  looks  exactly  like  her.  Lucky  man !  Why 
didn't  you  ever  show  me  these  before?  Here  I  have 
been  nursing  you  for  sixty  nights.  I  thought  I  too 
belonged  to  the  family." 

The  photographs  were  two  copies  of  the  same  pic- 
ture, and  as  she  returned  them  to  Gaspard  he  took 
one  of  them  and  gave  it  back  to  her.  She  was  deeply 
moved  by  this  silent  tribute.  It  was  Gaspard's  fare- 
well and  the  only  way  in  which  he  could  thank  her 
for  all  she  had  done  for  him.  She  went  away,  after 
thanking  him,  happy  at  the  thought  that  Gaspard 
had  thought  enough  of  her  to  express  his  gratitude 
in  this  manner. 

The  following  day,  after  visiting  every  corner  of 
the  hospital,  from  the  kitchen  to  the  garden,  he  came 
to  say  good-by  to  the  three  women  who  had  nursed 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  195 

him,  cherished  him  and  were  really  responsible  for 
his  recovery.  Deeply  moved,  he  was  turning  his  cap 
in  his  hands,  sad  at  the  thought  of  leaving  the  friends 
and  the  surroundings  which  had  grown  so  dear  to 
him.  Once  again  he  was  being  caught  in  the  whirl- 
wind of  war.  What  a  life!  He  was  to  bid  good-by 
once  more  to  those  he  loved  and  to  the  places  he 
cherished. 

In  the  street  he  was  hardly  able  to  find  his  way  and 
he  turned  three  times  for  a  last  look  at  the  hospital, 
then  went  on  straight  ahead.  When  he  reached  the 
banks  of  the  River  Loire  the  water  was  like  a  mir- 
ror in  the  light  of  the  setting  sun. 

His  train  was  to  leave  at  9  o'clock  and  he  was  at 
a  loss  to  know  just  what  to  do  until  then.  Little 
he  cared  for  the  surrounding  country;  a  Parisian 
thinks  too  much  of  his  Paris  to  be  greatly  interested 
in  any  other  place.  He  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  best  thing  to  do  was  to  treat  himself  to  a  first- 
class  dinner,  a  three-franc  dinner  in  a  good  hotel. 
This,  he  figured,  he  could  easily  afford,  as  he  had  not 
spent  a  penny  during  the  last  two  months. 

He  went  into  the  Hotel  des  Trois  Rois  at  the  cor- 
ner of  the  quay  and  the  Grand  Rue. 

It  was  an  old-fashioned  hotel  which  boasted  much 
of  its  steam  heat,  but  the  central  heating  system  was 
the  only  modern  improvement  to  be  found  there,  for 
the  place  was  intended  chiefly  as  a  home  for  those 


196  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

interested  in  the  memories  of  days  gone  by.  From 
the  street  the  traveler  enters  directly  into  a  large  room 
with  a  great  big  fireplace  where  a  log  fire  is  burn- 
ing merrily.  On  a  shelf  along  the  wall  may  be  seen 
a  long  line  of  well  polished  candlesticks.  An  appetiz- 
ing aroma  notifies  the  traveler  that  the  food  is  good. 
An  enormous  linen  closet  gives  him  to  understand  that 
the  beds  are  soft  and  well  kept.  It  is  a  delightful 
place,  the  like  of  which  may  be  found  in  all  good  cor- 
ners of  France  and  which  reminds  one  of  descriptions 
read  in  story  books. 

Ever  since  the  beginning  of  the  war  discussion  had 
run  high  before  the  log  fire.  The  guests  of  the  hotel 
included  three  elderly  couples  who  had  fled  from 
Rheims  and  had  come  to  Anjou  to  await  the  time 
when  their  city  would  be  free  from  Germans  and  from 
shells. 

The  heads  of  the  three  families  were  a  grocer,  a 
magistrate  and  a  retired  druggist.  When  Gaspard 
came  in  they  were  seated  in  front  of  the  log  fire  and 
the  druggist  was  talking  nervously,  raising  his  arms 
now  and  then  to  emphasize  his  words. 

"Then  you  imagine  that  we  are  going  to  let  them 
fall  asleep  in  their  trenches  ?  Well,  my  dear  sir,  that 
is  so  far  from  being  the  case  that  I  have  here  a  letter 
from  my  cousin,  who  is  a  member  of  the  General 
Staff." 

"Oh!"  said  the  magistrate,  "I  don't  believe  those 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  197 

stories!  Those  fellows  never  tell  the  truth.  They 
wouldn't  know  it  before  we  did,  anyhow." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned  at 
least,  I  never  make  any  statement  which  I  do  not  know 
to  be  a  fact.  I  tell  you,  sir,  there  are  regiments  al- 
ready at  this  very  moment  which  are  to  be  used  for 
no  other  purpose  than  to  fill  up  the  trenches  as 
quickly  as  we  recapture  them." 

"Meanwhile  the  Boches  are  in  them." 

"Of  course  they  are!  What  we  need  is  a  second 
Joan  of  Arc  to  drive  the  brutes  away." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  quietly  said  the  grocer's 
wife. 

The  old  hotel  waiter  entered  with  a  glass  of  hot 
milk  for  one  of  the  ladies.  He  was  an  ideal  war  time 
servant  when  it  is  a  duty  not  to  be  in  a  hurry.  He 
volunteered  to  explain : 

"He  means  to  drive  the  Germans  from  the  trenches, 
madame." 

No  one  objecting  to  his  intervention,  the  old  waiter 
went  on: 

"You  see  the  Boches  have  been  thinking  of  nothing 
else  for  forty-four  years.  They  weren't  trying  to  im- 
prove their  education,  or  anything  like  that.  Why, 
all  they  care  for  is  artillery,  while  we  Frenchmen  were 
making  all  kinds  of  experiments  in  medicine,  vaccina- 
tion and  a  lot  of  other  things  like  that." 

"Sure,"  said  Gaspard,  stepping  forward. 


198  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

It  was  his  way  of  calling  attention  to  his  presence 
in  the  room.  Receiving  no  reply  he  continued,  some- 
what embarrassed: 

"I  know  what  it  is.  ...  I  have  been  through  it 
myself.  .  .  .  Where  can  I  get  something  to  eat?" 

The  interest  of  the  others  was  at  once  aroused. 
The  druggist  said: 

"Have  you  been  wounded,  my  good  friend?" 

"You  bet!" 

The  three  women  raised  their  heads. 

"But  you  have  completely  recovered,  haven't  you?" 
said  the  druggist. 

"Fit  as  a  fish." 

"And  ready  to  go  out  again  ?" 

"You  bet  I  am." 

The  magistrate  put  in  a  good  word : 

"Well,  you  know  that  you  are  all  our  hope.  Six 
weeks  have  gone  by  since  we  were  driven  from  our 
homes." 

"And  when  you  get  to  their  homes  it  will  be  your 
turn,  won't  it?"  exclaimed  the  druggist. 

"Well,  it's  up  to  Joffre,"  said  Gaspard. 

"Well,  in  any  case  you'll  spare  the  women  and 
children,  won't  you?" 

"Don't  worry  about  that." 

"Because  above  everything  else  we  are  French,  and 
don't  forget  it." 

"Just  rely  on  me." 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  199 

"The  only  thing  to  do  is  to  make  them  pay  enor- 
mous taxes." 

"Leave  that  to  me." 

"And  don't  forget  to  take  hostages." 

"Hosta— what?" 

"Hostages." 

"Oh,  we'll  take  a  lot  of  those." 

"And  do  just  as  they  did:  make  them  march  out  in 
front  of  you.  They  have  mined  the  whole  country 
over  there.  I've  got  a  cousin  on  the  General  Staff 
and  he  said  to  me  that  everything  was  mined  over 
there." 

"Do  you  mean  it?" 

"Yes ;  but  when  the  mines  explode  let  them  be  blown 
up  first." 

"That's  all  settled." 

"They  and  their  Wilhelm  and  their  Crown 
Prince." 

"The  swine !" 

"If  we  could  only  catch  those  two !" 

"Yes,  if  we  could!  .  .  ." 

"What  would  you  do,  my  friend,  if  you  caught 
them?" 

"What  would  I  do?  .  .  .  What  would  I  do ?  .  .  ." 

The  hotel  keeper's  wife  came  into  the  room.  The 
magistrate  took  her  aside,  while  the  druggist  was  still 
talking  to  Gaspard. 

"It's  a  soldier  who  has  come  for  dinner.          .  I 


200  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

hope  you  will  be  kind  enough  not  to  put  him  in  our 
room." 

"Don't  worry  about  that." 

"Of  course  he's  all  right  .  .  .  but  you  know  .  .  . 
with  ladies  present." 

"Yes,  yes,  monsieur." 

"Funny  idea  of  his  to  come  here." 

"Yes,  isn't  it?" 

"For  his  own  sake  he  would  have  been  better  off 
in  a  small  wine  shop." 

"Well,  it's  war  time,"  said  the  woman,  "and  they 
go  almost  everywhere.  But  don't  worry,  sir." 

She  said  to  Gaspard: 

"Would  you  like  to  have  dinner?" 

"Yes,  a  three-franc  dinner." 

"Well,  then,  come  this  way." 

He  was  surprised,  but  prepared  to  follow  her  as 
the  three  men  shook  hands  with  him. 

He  dined  alone,  all  alone  in  a  small  room  which 
had  evidently  been  used  for  storage  purposes  and 
from  where  all  the  noise  of  the  kitchen  could  be 
heard.  He  did  not  quite  well  understand  why  they 
had  put  him  there,  but  had  no  thought  of  complain- 
ing. The  average  soldier  loses  all  idea  of  seeking 
explanations;  he  just  simply  obeys  orders.  At  the 
second  course  he  observed  that  the  waitress  was  pret- 
ty. When  he  came  out  on  the  street  again  everything 
was  dark  and  he  was  unable  to  find  a  single  human 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  201 

being  of  whom  he  could  ask  his  way  to  the  railway 
station.  The  glory  of  being  a  wounded  man  appealed 
to  him  not  at  all. 

Cursing  war  and  all  that  it  stands  for,  he  took  a 
seat  in  an  empty  compartment,  dissatisfied  with  him- 
self and  with  the  meal,  which  he  had  been  unable  to 
enjoy. 

Discouraged  and  weary,  he  leaned  out  of  the  train 
window,  thinking  of  the  sorrows  and  the  monotony 
of  the  life  of  a  soldier,  and  philosophically  remarked : 
"A  shame,  I  say !  This  war  is  a  shame  in  civilized 
times !" 

The  train  went  on  in  the  dark  night,  with  not  a 
star  to  be  seen. 

Gaspard  continued: 

"And  to  think  that  they  inscribe  the  word  'liberty' 
on  the  front  of  every  monument." 


VI 


WHEN  Gaspard  left  A with  his  regi- 
ment he  never  thought  he  would  return 
there  before  it  was  all  over,  or,  in  other 
words,  until  peace  had  been  signed.     His  heart  was 
sad  at  the  thought  of  going  back  there  while  the  war 
was  still  on,  for  it  was  evident  now  that  the  first  three 
months  were  to  be  nothing  but  a  prologue.     Even  the 
English  had  declared  that  the  war  was  only  at  its 
beginning,  but  the  most  optimistic  hoped  it  would 
only  last  six  months. 

"Six  months!"  said  Gaspard.  "If  it  were  only 
true! .  .  ." 

It  was  with  a  sorrowful  face  that  he  went  through 
the  gate  of  the  barracks.  Among  all  the  miseries 
of  war  the  barracks  is  one  of  the  worst.  Soldiers 
live  there,  going  through  the  same  monotonous  life 
which  was  theirs  in  times  of  peace,  while  others  are 
out  getting  killed.  The  same  childish  foolishness 
goes  on  from  day  to  day,  the  same  stupid  orders  are 
given  and  the  soldier's  life  in  the  barracks,  far  from 
the  fighting  line,  is  just  as  inglorious  as  the  life  of 
the  men  at  the  front  is  wonderful.  But  the  servitude 
of  military  life  is  eternal  and  the  adjutant  in  com- 

202 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  203 

mand  at  A was  a  typical  sample  of  the  brutes 

who  are  generally  found  in  these  places. 

His  name  was  Dupouya,  and  Gaspard  lost  no  time 
in  realizing  just  what  he  was.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
he  was  a  curiosity.  He  was  so  eager  to  worry  the 
men  under  his  command  that  some  of  his  methods 
were  almost  original.  Of  small  stature,  thin  and 
aggressive,  he  pursued  the  men  and  never  left  them 
alone.  It  was  useless  to  try  to  escape;  he  went 
everywhere  and  found  everyone.  Upstairs,  down- 
stairs, in  every  corner  of  the  yard,  in  the  kitchens 
and  in  the  hospitals,  he  could  be  seen  at  all  times, 
always  smoking  a  large  cigar  and  his  cap  on  his 
ear.  He  was  the  most  exasperating  of  all  those  who 
had  ever  been  entrusted  with  the  direction  of  men, 
and  his  reputation  of  being  an  impudent  and  imper- 
tinent tormentor  was  well  earned  and  well  deserved. 

His  place  was  not  at  the  front — his  business  was 
to  act  as  a  policeman  to  the  soldiers  of  the  barracks. 
He  hardly  gave  the  men  time  to  breathe.  He  would 
ask  those  who  were  ill  if  they  were  not  getting  better, 
and  would  repeat  the  question  every  fifteen  minutes, 
eager  to  get  rid  of  them  as  soon  as  possible. 

But  he  at  the  same  time  remained,  safe  from 
danger,  to  worry  all  the  poor  unfortunates  who  were 
sent  to  him  by  fate. 

His  greatest  satisfaction  was  to  get  rid  of  the 
men,  to  send  them  to  the  firing  line,  where  he  wasn't 


204  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

thinking  of  going  himself,  and  he  was  never  happier 
than  when  he  could  say  to  the  Captain : 

"I  have  got  thirty  men  ready  to  go." 

Sometimes  the  Captain  would  say  that  he  needed 
thirty-two,  whereupon  he  would  run  to  his  office  and 
hurriedly  consult  the  list  of  recent  arrivals,  after 
which  he  would  run  up  to  the  sleeping  quarters  and 
order  the  men  to  stand  at  attention.  On  one  of  these 
visits  he  found  the  men  playing  cards  and  ordered 
them  to  stand  up,  but  only  two  of  the  twelve  com- 
plied with  the  order.  He  called  them  all  out  and 
took  them  to  the  chief  surgeon,  who  quickly  ordered 
them  to  the  front.  Thus  he  went  on  from  day  to 
day,  bothering  and  worrying  the  men,  happy  only 
when  he  could  send  them  away.  He  was  the  real 
master  of  their  fate  and  seemed  some  sort  of  fool's 
secretary  to  destiny. 

But  all  this  was  before  the  arrival  of  Gaspard. 
With  Gaspard  he  learned  to  know  the  other  side  of 
the  human  medal  and  became  acquainted  with  resist- 
ance and  failure.  Gaspard  drove  him  mad. 

Gaspard  could  only  be  handled  one  way,  and  when 
he  came  into  the  barracks  he  had  determined  to  re- 
main there  only  a  week  and  then  go  back  to  the  firing 
line.  But  the  satisfied  and  positive  manner  in  which 
the  Adjutant  told  him  that  he  was  fit  to  go  back  and 
fight  appeared  to  him  as  an  insult,  and  he  promptly 
decided  that  he  would  have  his  own  way. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  205 

"All  right  .  .  .  don't  worry  .  .  .  we'll  see  the 
surgeon." 

Meanwhile  he  came  across  his  old  friend  Moreau, 
who  had  been  wounded  and  had  already  recovered 
and  was  now  spending  his  time  doing  nothing.  Gas- 
pard  was  delighted  beyond  measure  to  find  his  pal  at 
whose  side  he  had  fought,  and  he  questioned  him  at 
once  regarding  the  Adjutant. 

"What  does  that  fool  think  he  is?" 

"Don't  worry,"  said  Moreau.  "He's  not  going  to 
send  me  back  to  the  Boches." 

"How  will  you  do  it?" 

"Leave  it  to  me." 

"But  how?" 

"I'm  down  as  a  munition  worker." 

"Munition  worker?" 

"Yes.  You  see  I'm  going  to  make  bullets  instead 
of  receiving  them." 

"Gee!     That's  a  pretty  good  game." 

Gaspard  thought  it  over  and  then  said: 

"Well,  there's  nothing  for  me  in  that  line.  A 
snail  dealer  can't  pretend  to  know  anything  about 
munitions." 

"All  you  have  to  do  is  to  have  yourself  put  down 
as  unfit." 

"What  does  that  mean?" 

"Just  ask  the  big  fellow  over  there,  the  one  with 
glasses.     He's   unfit." 
15 


206  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"That  big,  skinny  one?" 

"Yes,  he's  unfit." 

"Eh !  son  .  .  .  come  over  here." 

Gaspard  was  lying  on  his  back  on  a  heap  of  straw 
and  the  other  man  came  over. 

"What's  this  Moreau  tells  me,  that  you're  unfit?" 

"He's  right." 

"What  does  that  mean?" 

"That  I  can't  do  any  more  fighting." 

"And  you  know,"  added  Moreau,  "he's  a  wise  one. 
He's  a  school  teacher  in  Paris  and  not  a  fool,  so  if 
he's  unfit  it's  because  it's  a  good  thing  to  be." 

"I'm  afraid  you're  mistaken,  my  friend,  so  far  at 
least  as  I  am  concerned,"  said  the  professor  quietly. 
"If  I  am  unfit  it  is  not  by  my  own  wish,  but  because 
I  am  suffering  from  an  acute  attack  of  enteritis." 

"Enteritis  ?     And  what  is  enteritis  ?"  said  Gaspard. 

"It's  .  .  .  it's  very  painful." 

"Where  do  you  feel  it?" 

"In  the  intestines." 

"And  how  did  the  surgeon  discover  it?" 

"Why?     Do  you  think  you  have  it?" 

"One  can  never  tell." 

"You  see,"  explained  Moreau,  "he  has  already 
been  out  at  the  front  and  has  been  wounded.  He 
knows  what  it  is  and  isn't  at  all  anxious  to  try  it 
again." 

Gaspard   had   nothing  to   say.     He   was   looking 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  207 

straight  ahead  and  juggling  a  piece  of  straw  in  his 
hands. 

"Well,"  said  the  professor,  "let  him  take  my 
enteritis  and  I'll  take  his  place  out  at  the  front." 

"Don't  brag,"  said  Moreau.  "When  you  have 
seen  what  it  looks  like  you'll  probably  long  for  your 
wife  and  your  slippers." 

"I  have  no  wife." 

"You're  not  married?     You're  all  alone?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  if  I  had  my  way  you'd  have  something  to 
pay  in  the  line  of  taxes !"  Gaspard  remarked  that 
his  wound  still  caused  him  occasional  pains,  at  which 
Moreau  exclaimed: 

"Go  and  tell  the  surgeon  at  once  and  lose  no 
time  about  it." 

Gaspard  thought  it  over  a  few  minutes  and  then 
replied : 

"Yes,  I  will  go  ...  just  to  fool  that  brute  of  an 
Adjutant." 

His  sole  motive  in  attempting  to  evade  further 
service  at  the  front  was  just  that;  a  foolish  sense 
of  pride.  He  forgot  all  about  the  war  with  the 
Boches  and  began  a  fight  of  his  own  with  Dupouya. 

The  very  first  round  of  the  fight  was  in  his  favor. 

The  surgeon,  bewildered  by  Gaspard's  talk,  said: 

"All  right  .  .  .all  right,  go  away  and  come  back 
and  see  me  later." 


208  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

He  returned  at  once,  this  time  with  new  complaints 
and  the  surgeon  was  glad  to  get  rid  of  him. 

"All  right,  my  boy ;  go  and  get  a  good  long  rest." 

He  took  a  short  rest  and  came  back  once  more, 
and  the  surgeon  finally  decided  that  he  was  unfit  for 
further  service. 

For  three  full  days  Gaspard  rejoiced  over  the 
thought  of  being  able  to  say  to  the  Adjutant:  "I  am 
unfit!"  But  the  pleasure  soon  died  away  and  the 
quiet  dullness  of  life  in  barracks  began  to  tell  on 
Gaspard. 

He  soon  grew  tired  of  sitting  around  smoking 
pipes  and  manipulating  a  more  or  less  soiled  deck  of 
cards.  He  was  too  full  of  life  to  be  able  to  enjoy 
this  sort  of  existence,  but  found  no  sympathy  in 
Moreau,  who  was  thoroughly  satisfied.  He  turned 
his  attention  to  the  professor,  to  whom  he  said: 

"Do  you  care  for  this  sort  of  life?  I  wanted  to 
get  the  Adjutant,  and  I  got  him ;  but  I  am  beginning 
to  get  sick  of  it  all  and  I  tell  you  it's  not  going  to 
last." 

"Fine !"  said  the  professor. 

"As  a  civilian,"  said  Gaspard,  "I  get  up  every 
day  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  I  am  on  the  job 
at  the  Halles  at  three.  I  earn  money  and  take  care 
of  my  kid.  But  here  ...  if  we're  unfit  they  ought 
to  send  us  home." 

The  professor  agreed  that  the  course  suggested 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  209 

by  Gaspard  would  be  far  more  reasonable,  and  this 
induced  them  to  exchange  views  on  other  points. 

The  professor  was  a  quiet,  modest  man  and  a 
thinker,  a  real  bourgeois.  Gaspard,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  a  man  of  the  people,  with  just  the  opposite 
nature.  They  liked  each  other  at  once,  because  they 
could  never  be  bored  in  each  other's  company. 

Gaspard,  who  felt  that  he  was  socially  inferior, 
told  first  of  his  friendship  for  Burette  and  also  for 
Dudognon.  He  considered  these  two  good  as  refer- 
ences, but  so  far  as  education  was  concerned  he  was 
quite  willing  to  admit  that  about  all  he  had  been 
able  to  do  in  school  was  to  wipe  off  the  black- 
board. 

"The  schoolmaster  got  on  my  nerves,  and  it  got 
on  my  father's  nerves  to  realize  what  I  thought  of 
school.  So  after  putting  me  in  there  at  the  age  of 
seven  he  took  me  out  again  when  I  was  nine  and  said : 
'Now  you  know  how  to  read  and  write,  and  that's  all 
you  need :  all  the  rest  is  rot.  College  and  degrees  are 
good  only  for  sons  of  politicians.  .  .  .  Just  look  at 
me!  I  wouldn't  know  how  to  make  a  division  on 
paper;  I'd  go  all  wrong;  but  when  I  do  it  in  my 
head,  believe  me,  I  never  make  a  mistake.' 

"And  then,  you  know,  when  it  comes  to  talking  I 
don't  think  I  need  any  lessons  from  anyone.  .  .  . 
I've  bought  a  lot  of  books  and  I've  got  a  regular 
library  under  my  bed.  Some  good  books  too,  take  it 


210  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

from  me;  Victor  Hugo,  Alexandre  Dumas  and  'Cy- 
rano' by  Rostand.  I  saw  'Cyrano'  six  times  on  the 
stage  .  .  .  There's  a  play  for  you !  Do  you  remem- 
ber when  he  talks  about  his  nose  and  then  when  he 
makes  love  to  Roxane  and  she  thinks  it's  the  other 
man  and  kisses  him  right  on  his  lips?  .  .  .  and  then 
when  he  is  about  to  die." 

And  Gaspard  recited  in  a  loud  voice  the  last  words 
of  the  famous  play. 

"I  see,"  said  the  professor,  "that  you  are  fond 
of  good  literature." 

"I  like  everything  that  is  good,"  replied  Gaspard 
in  an  outburst  of  enthusiasm.  "I'll  tell  you  another 
thing  I  love :  A  phonograph !  .  .  .  But  when  it  comes 
to  reading  I  have  read  'Les  Miserables'  seven  times. 
Of  course  I  know  just  what  is  going  to  happen  when 
I  read  it  over  again,  but  what  I  like  is  to  see  the  way 
it  is  told.  Men  like  Victor  Hugo  deserve  to  be  rich. 
If  it  were  up  to  me  I  would  give  him  everything  I 
have  .  .  .  because,  you  know,  men  who  can  write 
things  like  that  are  wonders !" 

He  remained  silent  for  a  while  and  then  con- 
tinued : 

"Whereas  an  Adjutant  ...  an  Adjutant  ...  he 
might  starve  to  death  right  in  front  of  me  and  I 
wouldn't  give  him  a  thing." 

"Now  you're  bragging,"  said  the  professor  quietly. 

Gaspard  had  nothing  further  to  say. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD 

The  quiet  way  and  the  pleasant  manners  of  the 
professor  inspired  Gaspard  with  both  respect  and 
confidence.  He  was  extremely  familiar  with  him,  but 
still  never  refrained  from  prefixing  a  "Monsieur"  to 
his  name  when  he  spoke  to  him.  "Monsieur  Mousse" 
were  the  first  words  he  ever  addressed  to  him.  Just 
as  with  Burette  in  days  gone  by,  he  liked  to  talk 
with  this  man  because  he  felt  that  his  conversation 
was  beneficial  to  him,  particularly  in  these  barracks 
where  life  was  so  dull. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  the  life  of  these  two  "unfits" 
was  lugubriously  comical. 

Being  "unfit,"  there  was  nothing  for  them  to  do, 
nothing  beyond  counting  the  minutes  as  they  went 
by  and  the  professor  had  a  wrist  watch  from  which 
he  practically  never  took  his  eyes. 

He  was  tall,  with  a  long  neck  and  a  high  forehead 
and  his  slender  silhouette  could  be  seen  passing 
along  the  walls,  followed  by  Gaspard,  who  came 
right  after  him  in  his  footsteps,  his  eyes  glued  to 
the  ground  as  though  he  were  hoping  to  find  some- 
thing along  his  way. 

Winter  had  already  arrived,  and  in  military  bar- 
racks it  is  felt  earlier  than  anywhere  else.  The 
chestnut  trees  around  the  central  yard  had  lost  all 
their  leaves  and  presented  a  sorrowful  appearance. 
It  was  raining  two  days  out  of  three  and  a  cold  wind 
accompanied  the  rain. 


212  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"What  a  life!     What  a  life!"  exclaimed  Mousse. 

"I  can't  stand  it  any  longer,"  said  Gaspard. 

They  went  to  see  the  Lieutenant. 

The  Lieutenant  stroked  his  beard  and  said: 

"You  are  unfit.  ...  I  can't  make  use  of  you ;  the 
rule  is  strict;  I  can  only  employ  men  who  are  phy- 
sically fit." 

"Well,  then,  what  are  we  going  to  do?" 

"Just  wait  around  here." 

"This  is  terrible,"  said  the  professor. 

In  the  midst  of  his  despair  he  went  to  see  the  Chief 
and  showed  him  his  papers,  proving  that  he  was  a 
college  graduate. 

"Now,  couldn't  I  help  you  secretly,  without  any- 
one knowing  anything  about  it  ...  copy  some  of 
your  reports,  or  anything  like  that?" 

He  seemed  so  dejected  that  the  other  replied: 

"Well,  if  you  insist  ...  I  don't  care." 

He  could  have  kissed  him,  so  happy  was  he  at  the 
thought  of  finding  something  to  do.  He  settled 
down  to  work  with  enthusiasm,  just  as  a  starving  man 
sits  down  to  a  good  meal. 

Meanwhile  Gaspard  went  into  the  storehouse,  from 
where  at  the  beginning  he  had  distributed  to  his 
comrades  the  various  articles  of  their  equipment. 
His  former  place  was  now  taken  by  a  man  who  was 
almost  blind  and  who  at  a  distance  of  two  yards 
couldn't  see  the  difference  between  a  soldier's  cap  and 


PRIVATE    GASPARD 

a  coffee  pot.  Gaspard  looked  as  important  as  pos- 
sible as  he  went  in  to  see  his  successor,  carrying 
a  bottle  of  white  wine  under  his  arm. 

"Here  I  am,"  he  said.  "I  was  the  first  one  to 
equip  the  company,  so  the  Lieutenant  told  me  that 
I  could  come  and  help  you.  But  first  of  all  we're 
going  to  have  a  drink  so  as  to  get  better  ac- 
quainted." 

Twenty-four  hours  had  gone  by  since  Gaspard 
had  invaded  the  storeroom  and  Mousse  occupied  his 
new  place  in  the  office,  when  suddenly  an  unexpected 
visit  of  the  General  was  announced. 

The  Chief  expelled  the  professor  quickly. 

"Get  out  of  here!  If  he  found  you  here  there 
would  be  some  real  trouble!.  .  .  Go  and  hide  in  the 
stable.  .  .  .  Don't  let  him  see  you!  He  hates  'un- 
fits'!" 

Mousse  ran  outside  as  fast  as  he  could,  although 
a  drenching  rain  was  falling.  He  ran  to  the  store- 
house, where  he  found  Gaspard  on  the  doorstep  en- 
gaged in  a  lively  altercation. 

"All  right  ...  all  right  ...  I'll  get  out  of  here, 
but  give  me  back  my  bottle  of  wine!" 

"You'll  get  it  later  on.  Get  away  quick!  The 
General  is  coming." 

"I  teU  you  that  I  want  my  bottle." 

He  got  his  bottle  of  wine  and  the  two  men,  driven 
from  the  self-chosen  posts,  went  up  to  the  sleeping 


214  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

quarters.  There  a  corporal  gave  them  two  brooms 
and  said: 

"The  General  is  coming!     Sweep  up  the  room." 

They  refused  to  accept  the  brooms  and  ran  down 
into  the  yard  again.  This  time  a  sergeant  stopped 
them  with  a  new  order: 

"Pick  these  stones  off  the  road  .  .  .  the  General  is 
coming." 

Again  they  ran  away  and  sought  refuge  in  a  shed, 
where  they  crawled  under  a  wagon  to  await  the 
passing  of  the  crisis. 

The  following  day  they  were  again  without  work. 

Gaspard  said: 

"Monsieur  Mousse,  look  here.  I  wouldn't  go 
back  to  the  office.  Come  with  me  to  the  store- 
house." 

"Do  you  think  I  can  stay  there?"  asked  the  pro- 
fessor. 

"All  you  have  to  do  is  to  stop  at  the  canteen  and 
get  three  litres  of  white  wine." 

Thanks  to  these  three  litres  he  was  able  to  remain 
with  Gaspard.  The  man  in  the  storehouse  locked 
the  door  with  a  key  and  the  "unfit"  professor  spent 
a  wonderful  day  folding  up  soldiers'  trousers.  Pie 
was  delighted.  He  kept  at  his  work  assiduously,  do- 
ing it  over  and  over  again  while  the  hours  went  by. 
But  the  end  soon  came  when  the  Lieutenant  arrived 
on  the  scene. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  215 

He  was  furious  when  he  came  in  because  he  had 
found  the  door  locked. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?  .  .  .  Didn't  I  tell  you 
.  .  .  get  out  of  here  quick !" 

This  was  a  blow  to  Mousse. 

"What  shall  we  do,  Lieutenant?" 

"I  told  you  before  that  all  you  were  to  do  was  to 
rest." 

The  two  wanderers  were  more  than  ever  at  a  loss 
to  know  what  to  do  with  themselves.  They  went  on 
aimlessly  through  the  halls,  and  someone  called  out: 

"Hey,  you  two !  You've  got  nothing  to  do,  come 
over  here  and  scrub  the  sinks." 

Another  voice  was  heard: 

"Sinks  nothing!  How  about  the  potatoes?  Come 
over  here  and  peel  potatoes." 

They  took  advantage  of  these  contradictory  orders 
to  disappear  once  more,  and  again  they  were  out 
in  the  yard.  Most  of  their  day  was  spent  there, 
and  they  even  ate  their  meals  at  the  same  place. 
The  rest  of  the  time  was  devoted  to  dodging  the 
Adjutant  and  the  sergeant.  They  knew  every  hid- 
ing place  in  and  around  the  yard,  every  tree  which 
might  afford  protection  and  concealment  in  case  of 
the  sudden  arrival  of  one  of  their  tormentors. 

Sometimes  they  would  run  to  the  canteen,  but  it 
was  not  always  open.  There  was  no  use  trying  the 
shower  baths,  for  the  water  was  never  hot.  The 


216  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

kitchens  offered  no  shelter,  for  the  cooks  lost  no  time 
in  expelling  them.  It  was  no  use  going  to  the  in- 
firmary because  the  surgeon's  assistants  would  im- 
mediately want  to  vaccinate  them.  Having  thought 
of  all  these  places,  the  professor  had  an  inspiration 
and  suggested  to  Gaspard  that  they  go  to  a  corner 
of  the  barracks,  where  the  man  in  charge  of  the 
lamps  held  sway. 

Off  they  went  at  once  and  soon  came  face  to  face 
with  a  peculiar  sort  of  individual  whose  clothes 
seemed  impregnated  with  oil,  gasolene  and  petro- 
leum. It  turned  out  that  he  was  quite  willing  to 
take  them  in  and  greeted  them  with  open  arms. 

"All  you  have  to  do  is  to  buy  me  a  drink  and 
then  make  yourself  right  at  home.  Nothing  to 
worry  about  here.  Why,  the  air  is  bad  enough  to 
keep  anyone  away.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  live  on 
your  income  and  take  life  easy." 

"But  do  you  think  that  we  who  are  unfit  will  be 
allowed  to  remain  here?" 

"Don't  worry.  Just  give  me  fourteen  sous  and 
I'll  go  and  get  a  litre." 

"That's  right,"  said  Mousse.  "I  had  forgot- 
ten." 

The  lamp  man  took  the  money,  went  out  and 
came  back  with  the  wine,  which  he  and  Gaspard 
drank;  the  professor  din't  touch  it  on  account  of 
his  enteritis.  He  did  his  share,  however,  in  cleaning 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  217 

every  one  of  the  lamps.  He  forgot  all  about  his 
worries  and  the  time  passed  quickly. 

This  went  on  for  two  days  and  then  came  the 
inevitable  disaster.  The  Adjutant,  who  in  another 
life  had  probably  been  a  shepherd's  dog,  came  sneak- 
ing around  and  discovered  the  peculiar  odor  with 
which  the  clothes  of  both  Mousse  and  Gaspard  were 
impregnated. 

"Where  do  you  two  come  from?"  he  said.  "What 
have  you  got  to  do  with  the  lamps?" 

The  shock  was  almost  too  great  for  the  professor, 
who  could  hardly  reply. 

The  Adjutant  was  furious. 

"You're  a  fine  lot,  you  two !  Good  for  nothing 
and  still  bothering  the  whole  regiment.  Do  you 
think  we  have  nothing  else  to  worry  about  than  to 
think  of  you,  and  to  waste  our  brains  trying  to 
find  work  for  you?  Don't  you  know  this  is 
war  ?" 

"All  we  ask  is  something  to  do,"  said  Gaspard. 

The  Adjutant  was  too  excited  to  reply  and  all 
he  could  do  was  to  murmur  in  a  tone  of  supreme 
contempt  the  one  word  "unfit." 

Providence,  however,  was  watching  over  our  two 
men.  The  orderly  whose  function  it  was  to  carry 
from  the  storerooms  to  the  kitchen  the  meat  and 
vegetables  required  for  the  daily  meal  was  suddenly 
taken  ill.  Gaspard  and  the  professor  quickly  offered 


218        .          PRIVATE    GASPARD 

their  services  and  the  corporal  in  charge  of  the 
kitchen  accepted. 

Despite  the  wound  of  the  one  and  the  illness  of  the 
other  they  began  at  once  the  arduous  task  of  moving 
pushcarts  from  one  end  of  the  barracks  to  the  other. 
Mousse  looked  particularly  funny  in  his  new  role. 
The  cart  was  heavy  and  difficult  to  move.  Every 
once  in  a  while  the  effort  would  be  too  great  for 
him  and  in  his  excitement  his  glasses  would  fall  to 
the  ground.  His  part  was  to  pull  the  cart  along 
while  Gaspard  pushed  on  in  the  rear.  When  the 
stops  became  too  frequent  Gaspard  became  impatient 
and  offered  to  take  his  comrade's  place. 

"It's  too  much  for  you,  pal  ...  let  me  take  it. 
You  look  like  a  rabbit  trying  to  haul  a  trolley  car." 

The  professor  insisted  on  keeping  his  place.  He 
was  eager  to  wear  himself  out  in  order  the  better  to 
kill  time.  The  butcher  sneered  at  the  care  with  which 
the  professor  would  carry  huge  quarters  of  beef, 
which  generally  were  tossed  around  like  bags  of 
flour,  but  the  college  man  cared  little  for  the  other's 
sneers  and  went  on  with  his  work,  hopeful  that  in 
another  week  or  two  he  would  be  able  to  do  it  in 
a  more  skilful  way. 

He  had  forgotten  that  all  human  joys  are  short- 
lived. Just  one  week  later  the  sick  man  had  fully 
recovered  and  the  two  "unfits" — Gaspard  and  Mousse 
— were  once  again  out  of  a  job. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  219 

One  morning  the  professor,  pale  and  feverish,  went 
to  see  the  Captain. 

"I'm  cured,  Captain.     I  want  to  go  to  the  front." 

"See  the  surgeon,"  said  the  Captain. 

He  went  at  once  to  the  surgeon  and  told  him  the 
same  story. 

"I  am  cured.     I  want  to  go  to  the  front." 

"Look  here,"  said  the  surgeon.  "I  knew  what  I 
was  doing  when  I  found  you  unfit  for  active  service. 
The  question  is  not  whether  you  are  cured,  but 
whether  or  not  you  are  going  to  stay  cured.  Come 
and  see  me  again  in  six  weeks,  and  meanwhile  be 
patient." 

He  came  out  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  The  same 
day  he  received  a  letter  from  his  sister-in-law  which 
began  as  follows: 

"My  DEAR  GUSTAVE:  Louis  and  I  are  just  as 
patriotic  as  ever,  but  we  feel  that  a  man  can  do  his 
duty  wherever  God  has  chosen  to  place  him.  I  have 
prayed  so  much  for  you,  and  I  imagine  that  heaven 
is  keeping  you  among  the  unfit  because  you  are  to 
return  to  us  and  to  your  pupils." 

He  thought  at  first  this  letter  would  drive  him 
mad.  He  went  up  and  down  the  yard  murmuring 
to  himself: 

"God !  what  fools  these  women  are.  And  yet  my 
sister-in-law  is  an  intelligent  woman  ...  at  least  I 
thought  so  ...  but,  my  God!  what  a  fool  she  is!" 


220  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

Gaspard  at  this  moment  came  up  to  him  with  a 
merry  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"Eh,  friend!     I  have  found  something  to  do." 

"Really?" 

"Whenever  there  is  a  death  in  the  hospital ' 

"Well?" 

"Well,  we're  going  to  be  detailed  for  the  funeral 
service." 

"Do  you  mean  it  ?" 

"The  corporal  just  told  me." 

"But  are  there  many  funerals?" 

"Yes,  they  are  doing  pretty  well  just  now." 

On  the  average  there  was  a  death  every  three  days 
at  the  hospital.  Every  third  day,  therefore,  Gas- 
pard and  Mousse  could  be  seen  wearing  their  belts 
and  their  bayonets  and  marching  slowly  behind  the 
hearse.  The  first  few  times  they  were  both  very 
much  upset  by  the  sobs  of  the  relatives  and  the  speech 
delivered  over  the  grave  by  the  Prefect,  a  big  stout 
official,  who  had  the  most  impressive  manner  of  say- 
ing, "Good-by,  little  soldier  .  .  .  good-by." 

"It's  foolish,"  said  Gaspard.  "But  I  can't  help 
it.  I  can't  help  crying,  too." 

In  order  to  brace  themselves  after  the  ceremony 
they  took  advantage  of  their  freedom  to  make  a  stop 
at  a  wine  shop.  After  a  few  weeks  they  knew  every 

cafe  in  A ,  although  A has  as  many  cafes  as 

it  has  houses.  There  are  ten  of  them  watching  the 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  221 

trains  opposite  the  railroad  station,  twenty  others 
around  the  church  in  active  competition  with  the 
priest,  and  in  the  two  shopping  streets  they  stand 
side  by  side,  just  like  fish  dealers  in  a  market  place. 
This  was  all  right  for  Gaspard,  but  to  the  professor 
it  was  just  as  monotonous  as  the  yard  in  the  bar- 
racks. 

This  man,  generally  so  quiet  and  calm,  was  begin- 
ning to  grow  bitter  and  rough.  Even  on  Sundays, 
when  they  were  no  longer  compelled  to  remain  in 
the  barracks,  when  the  gate  was  opened  and  when 
he  and  Gaspard  could  call  themselves  free,  they  were 
just  as  unhappy  and  dissatisfied.  Nowhere  to  go, 
nothing  to  do,  no  one  to  see  ...  a  little  town  in 
Normandy  on  a  Sunday  afternoon  in  winter  is  one 
of  the  saddest  places  ever  conceived. 

The  points  of  interest  include  a  chateau,  a  prison 
and  a  public  square,  through  which  the  northern 
winds  send  their  chilling  blast;  even  the  river  seems 
ashamed  of  its  discolored,  uninviting  water  and  turns 
around  the  town  as  if  it  were  eager  to  get  away  as 
quickly  as  possible. 

Although  the  seat  of  the  departmental  prefect, 

A is  a  town  where  nothing  happens,  where  no 

one  comes  and  where  everything  is  dull  and  monoto- 
nous. 

There  are  no  useless  monuments,  neither  fountains 
nor  old  towers  in  ruins,  and  not  even  a  statue. 
16 


222  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

Others  may  indulge  in  such  luxuries,  but  the  men  of 
Normandy  are  above  everything  else  careful  and 
prudent,  and  the  best  proof  of  that  is  found  in  the 
fact  that  A has  no  less  than  four  lawyers. 

All  the  natives  can  show  you  is  the  lunatic  asylum, 
but  even  the  2,000  inmates  are  of  no  interest  what- 
ever. It  is  a  mediocre  town  of  which  history  will 
never  have  anything  to  say  and  of  which  the  good 
points  can  only  be  learned  in  a  geography.  Its 
name  recalls  painful  studies  in  school,  but  it  is  com- 
pletely ignored  in  any  account  concerning  the  glory 
of  the  nation.  No  one  seems  to  know  just  why  the 
town  really  exists. 

After  travelling  through  A the  occasional 

visitor  finds  nothing  at  all  to  tell  to  his  friends  about 
the  place. 

It  is  a  town  through  which  one  should  pass 
quickly  without  stopping.  The  cloth  market  is 
square,  the  corn  market  is  round  and  the  post  office 
has  the  one  advantage  of  being  practically  new. 
And  that  is  all  that  any  book  or  directory  will  tell 
you  about  A . 

There  is  only  one  single  house  which  offers  any 
kind  of  interest  to  the  visitor.  It  is  a  modest  and 
very  small  cottage  where  lace  making  is  taught. 
The  lace  makers  are  not  pretty,  but  the  lace  is,  to 
say  the  least,  curious.  It  is  a  miracle  of  feminine 
ability  which  never  fails  to  amaze  newcomers. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  223 

Coming  out  of  this  house,  the  remainder  of  the 
town  is  to  the  left  and  the  railroad  station  to  the 
right.  The  only  thing  to  do  is  to  turn  to  the  right 
as  quickly  as  possible. 

This,  however,  is  impossible  so  far  as  the  soldier 
is  concerned  and  more  particularly  an  "unfit"  sol- 
dier. Every  time  they  went  out  our  two  men  felt 
the  same  weary  and  dejected  feeling,  the  same  thor- 
ough discouragement,  and  there  was  nothing  to  do 
but  to  start  all  over  again  the  same  foolish  questions, 
the  same  empty  talk. 

"What  time  is  it?" 

"Ten  minutes  past  eight." 

"And  to  think  that  it's  that  swine  of  a  Kaiser  who 
is  responsible  for  all  this !"  Gaspard  went  on.  "And 
there  he  is,  living  in  luxury  while  we,  who  have  done 
nothing  to  deserve  it,  are  around  here  like  a  lot  of 
kids.  .  .  .  Gee,  I  often  wonder  why  I  was  born." 

His  friend  approved  with  a  wink  of  his  eye,  too 
dejected  even  to  talk. 

"What  time  is  it?"  said  Gaspard. 

"Eleven  minutes  past  eight,"  said  the  professor. 
The  worst  of  it  was  that  although  disgusted,  Gas- 
pard was  at  heart  delighted  at  the  thought  that  he 
did  not  have  to  go  back  to  the  firing  line,  and  when 
the  professor  displayed  too  much  eagerness  to  go 
to  the  front  Gaspard  would  say: 

"Well,  you'd  leave  nothing  behind  you,  but  what 


224  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

will  become  of  my  kid  if  the  Germans  kill  me?  Do 
you  think  he'll  get  his  breakfast  from  the  members 
of  Parliament?" 

For  this  reason  he  remained  patient  and  was 
growing  slowly  accustomed  to  his  pitiful  fate. 

His  patience,  however,  was  to  receive  a  severe  and 
unexpected  shock. 

It  was  bound  to  come.  Gaspard  had  always  been 
essentially  a  creature  of  impulse.  Despite  his  activ- 
ity he  was  able  to  get  along  in  this  monotonous  life 
until  temptation  came  his  way.  Then  all  his  fears 
and  worries  vanished. 

The  change  came  when  the  sergeant  inadvertently 
remarked : 

"All  those  who  are  going  back  to  the  front  are 
entitled  to  three  days  leave." 

"Three  days !"  exclaimed  Gaspard.  "To  be  spent 
where  ?" 

"To  be  spent  wherever  you  wish.'* 

"In  Paris?" 

"Anywhere." 

"Do  you  mean  it?" 

Paris!  The  thought  went  through  him  like  a 
stroke  of  lightning.  To  see  his  mother,  his  wife 
and  his  child  again  and  also  the  Rue  d'la  Gaite !  He 
was  half  choking  with  joy  just  at  the  thought  of  it. 
He  lost  no  time  in  telling  Mousse  about  it. 

"But  we  are  unfit,"  said  his  friend  bitterly. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  225 

"Unfit !  You're  a  fine  kind  of  a  fool  .  .  .  take  it 
from  me,  they  need  men  and  they're  not  going  to  be 
so  particular.  Only  we  must  keep  away  from  the 
surgeon ;  we'll  go  straight  to  the  office." 

"Well,  I'm  willing  to  try." 

"Give  me  fourteen  sous  for  a  litre  of  white 
wine." 

This  was  Gaspard's  supreme  argument  and  it  gen- 
erally worked.  He  went  into  the  office  and,  thanks 
to  his  bottle,  quickly  overcame  every  argument  ad- 
vanced by  the  man  in  charge  of  the  lists.  The  latter 
promptly  surrendered,  saying  with  a  superior  air, 
"Well,  so  long  as  you  insist,  all  I  have  to  do  is  to 
put  your  names  on  the  list  and  you'll  go  out  with 
the  next  batch.  If  it's  found  out,  well,  I'll  just  say 
I  don't  know  how  it  happened.  .  .  .  Pretty  good 
little  wine,  this  is." 

The  professor  was  full  of  admiration  for  his  friend 
and  the  latter  had  recovered  all  his  fine  spirits.  He 
was  gay  and  happy  and  laughed  out  loud  as  he 
said: 

"Paris!  and  after  that  the  Boches!  Fine!  I'm 
willing.  They  only  got  part  of  my  back  last  time; 
I'll  give  them  the  rest  now.  But  that's  all  they  ever 
will  get!  As  for  Paris,  it's  not  for  Von  Kluck. 
Paris  is  for  me !" 

He  took  Mousse  along  with  him  to  the  canteen 
and  on  their  way  they  gathered  up  a  few  others. 


He  emptied  his  purse,  keeping  no  more  than  the 
exact  amount  required  for  his  trip.  Then  he  went 
around  the  yard,  laughing  at  the  others. 

"We're  going  to  leave  you  here  in  your  chateau! 
You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourselves !  Where's 
your  nerve?" 

He  spoke  to  many  men  whom  he  had  never  seen 
before. 

"Eh,  you!  Are  you  satisfied  with  staying  here? 
Well,  believe  me,  I'm  not.  Three  days  of  Paris  and 
then  on  to  the  Boches ;  that's  what  I  call  living." 

They  went  toward  the  paymaster's  department, 
where  about  fifty  men  were  busy  all  day  scribbling 
figures. 

"A  fine  lot,  a  fine  lot  of  lazy  devils!"  said  Gas- 
pard.  "Let's  go  in  and  have  a  look  at  them." 

He  and  his  friend  went  in  and  looked  through  the 
wire  netting  in  front  of  the  desks.  Suddenly  he 
discovered  a  picture  on  the  wall  and  exclaimed: 

"What  do  you  think  of  that  for  nerve!  They've 
got  Joffre's  picture  on  the  wall." 

He  was  highly  indignant,  and  after  looking  at 
the  picture  for  a  few  moments,  added,  "It's  a  won- 
der he  doesn't  turn  around !" 

In  the  afternoon  when  the  papers  permitting  the 
men  to  go  on  leave  were  distributed  he  looked  at 
the  one  which  had  been  given  to  him  and  said : 

"Three  days  .   .   .  just  three  days!     I  wonder  if 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  227 

it  would  have  cost  them  too  much  ink  to  add  one 
more  to  the  three." 

Like  a  good  watchdog  Gaspard  was  wont  to 
grumble  even  when  he  was  pleased. 

As  soon  as  his  train  reached  Versailles  he  stuck 
his  head  out  of  the  door  window;  at  Malakoff  he 
already  had  one  foot  outside  of  the  door  and  at  the 
Montparnasse  railroad  station  in  Paris  he  was  the 
first  to  jump  from  the  train.  He  ran  all  the  way  to 
his  home. 

He  reached  the  Rue  d'la  Gaite  at  midnight,  happy 
at  the  thought  that  his  arrival  would  be  a  complete 
surprise.  He  rang  the  bell  merrily  and  his  mother 
was  dumfounded  when  she  saw  him. 

"Is  it  really  you?  .  .  .  Marie!  here  he  is!" 

Marie  could  hardly  believe  her  eyes. 

"Is  it  really  true  that  you  are  back,  right  back 
here  with  us  ?" 

He  took  them  both  in  his  arms  and  hugged  them 
tightly. 

"Where  is  the  boy?" 

"He  is  asleep." 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  that !" 

He  went  to  call  the  child  himself  and  covered  him 
with  kisses,  while  his  eyes  were  filled  with  tears. 
Marie  began  at  once  to  make  him  a  cup  of  coffee, 
while  his  mother  put  on  all  the  lights  in  the  place. 
Marie  said: 


228  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"So  you  have  really  been  out  at  the  front!  How 
many  of  them  did  you  kill?  .  .  .  How  did  it  feel 
when  you  were  wounded?" 

Still  holding  his  boy  in  his  arms  he  replied: 

"I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  Just  give  me  a 
chance." 

He  told  the  whole  story  of  the  campaign  and  of 
his  life  in  the  hospital  and  in  the  barracks. 

"Believe  me,  we're  all  ready  .  .  .  and  we've  got 
them  now !  .  .  .  You  ought  to  see  their  mugs !  .  .  . 
They  look  like  a  lot  of  swine  .  .  .  and  a  fine  lot  of 
fools,  too.  Why,  they  think  nothing  of  beginning 
to  blaze  away  at  you  all  of  a  sudden  without  even 
a  word  of  warning!  .  .  .  They  never  look  to  see  if 
you  are  there;  they  just  go  ahead  and  shoot  their 
guns  over  the  country.  I  might  have  brought  you 
a  piece  of  their  skin  as  a  souvenir,  but  it  is  too 
tough." 

He  inspected  the  house  with  great  pride  and  was 
especially  impressed  by  how  well  everything  was 
kept. 

"Well,"  said  his  wife,  "it's  always  easier  to 
keep  the  place  clean  where  there  is  no  man 
around." 

On  the  buffet  was  a  portrait  of  Joffre.  He  looked 
at  it  and  said: 

"It's  a  pretty  good  likeness." 

"Did  you  see  him?" 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  229 

"Well,  no,  but  I  saw  a  letter  from  his  chauffeur. 
They  tell  me  he's  a  real  good  sort." 

"Really?" 

"Yes,  one  of  the  best." 

The  two  women  listened  to  him  with  ever  increas- 
ing interest.  He  looked  at  his  mother  with  tender 
eyes  and  said  in  a  jovial  tone: 

"Well,  old  lady,  I  see  you're  still  cockeyed." 

"And  how  about  you  with  your  crooked  nose?" 
replied  his  mother  cheerfully. 

"Just  as  crooked  as  it  used  to  be.  I've  tried  to 
straighten  it  out  in  many  different  ways,  but  noth- 
ing doing." 

All  three  were  laughing.  Gaspard  was  so  happy 
he  could  hardly  believe  he  was  really  back  in  his  own 
dear  Paris.  Suddenly  he  jumped  up. 

"How  about  the  store  .  .  .  and  the  snails?" 

He  went  downstairs  into  the  shop  with  a  lighted 
candle  in  his  hand,  saying  to  himself: 

"It's  war  time  .  .  .  maybe  they  too  have  been 
mobilized." 

He  gave  Marie  a  long,  tender  look  and  admired 
her  true,  honest  face.  He  knew  that  she  had  never 
been  much  of  a  business  woman,  but  he  had  settled 
down  with  her  because,  first  of  all,  the  child  had 
come,  and  on  the  other  hand  she  was  a  good  house- 
wife, quiet  and  careful,  and  never  lost  her  temper. 
One  day  he  had  thrown  the  soup  at  her,  but  she 


230  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

had  simply  cried  without  replying  and  Gaspard, 
ashamed  of  himself,  had  said:  "Don't  cry;  I'll  make 
another  soup." 

During  the  night  of  his  arrival,  after  drinking  the 
coffee  which  she  prepared  for  him,  all  the  memories 
of  the  past  months  came  back  to  him ;  he  was  happy 
to  find  his  home  in  such  good  condition  and  looked 
affectionately  first  at  Marie  and  then  at  the  boy. 
While  thinking  over  the  past  he  became  suddenly 
aware  of  a  deep  feeling  of  gratitude  toward  this 
brave  woman  who  had  brought  up  his  son  and  taken 
such  good  care  of  him.  He  said: 

"I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do  ...  I  just  got  an 
idea.  .  .  .  This  is  war,  you  know  .  .  .  and  there  is 
nothing  like  war  to  give  you  an  idea  .  .  .  not  that 
there's  anything  new  about  it,  but  war  changes 
everything.  .  .  .  Listen  here,  Bibiche"  (this  was 
his  pet  name  for  Marie),  "don't  you  think  it  would 
be  better  ...  if  we  went  out  .  .  .  and  got  mar- 
ried?" 

This  was  entirely  unexpected  and  she  was  so 
happy  she  could  hardly  reply. 

Gaspard,  with  all  the  frankness  of  his  simple  soul, 
went  on: 

"I  just  came  to  think  of  it  ...  and  when  you 
think  of  it  you  might  as  well  do  it  ...  because, 
you  know  .  .  .  later  on  we  might  forget  all  about  it." 

His  mother  began  to  worry. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  231 

"You're  not  afraid  that  you're  going  to  be  killed 
when  you  go  .back,  are  you?" 

"Killed!"  Gaspard  cried.  "Killed!  Well  I  don't 
think!  Never  .  .  .  but  this  is  the  way;  so  long  as 
we're  doing  a  general  cleanup  we  might  as  well  set- 
tle our  own  private  affairs.  Here's  a  little  kid  who 
doesn't  know  just  what  he  is.  That  was  all  right 
before  the  war.  But  when  it  is  all  over  everything 
will  be  straightened  out  and  we  don't  want  to  be  be- 
hind the  others." 

Turning  to  the  boy,  he  added: 

"What  do  you  think  about  it,  kid?  Am  I  right, 
yes  or  no?" 

The  two  women  looked  at  him  with  tender  eyes 
and  the  mother,  deeply  moved  by  her  son's  generous 
thought,  said: 

"Yes,  my  boy,  you  are  right." 

Having  made  up  his  mind  nothing  could  make  him 
change  it.  It  was  clear  to  him  that  the  very  best 
thing  he  could  do  during  his  three  days'  leave  was  to 
get  married,  and  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost. 

The  next  morning  at  nine  o'clock  he  ran  to  the 
Mairie. 

Discouraging  news  awaited  him  there,  however, 
for  an  employee  abruptly  said: 

"It  can't  be  done  in  less  than  five  days." 

He  displayed  his  papers. 

"I  tell  you,  I  only  have  three  days'  leave." 


PRIVATE    GASPARD 


"It'll  take  five." 

"Well,  then,  what's  the  use  of  being  at  war?" 

"Don't  ask  me  .   .   .  get  out  of  here." 

He  came  back  disgusted.  His  little  boy  ran  up 
to  greet  him. 

"Tell  me,  papa,  you're  not  going  to  let  them  kill 
you,  are  you?" 

The  sight  of  the  boy  brought  back  the  thought 
of  the  determination  he  had  arrived  at  the  night  be- 
fore. Bent  on  legalizing  the  child's  position  before 
returning  to  the  front,  he  went  back  to  the  Mairie. 

He  had  decided  that  he  would  go  right  ahead  with 
the  marriage  formalities  and  that  so  long  as  five  days 
were  needed,  well  the  only  thing  to  do  was  to  take 
the  five  days.  He  worried  little  about  what  might 
be  the  consequences.  They  wouldn't  put  him  in 
prison;  he  would  go  right  back  to  face  the  Boches. 

He  came  back  home  with  a  broad  smile  on  his 
face  and  said  to  Marie  and  to  his  mother: 

"Well,  it's  all  settled  and,  just  my  luck,  I  met  a 
General  and  he  gave  me  two  days  more  leave." 

Marie  could  hardly  believe  it. 

"Some  of  these  Generals  must  be  fine  men  .  .  . 
who  would  have  believed  it  before  the  war?" 

"Right  you  are,"  said  Gaspard.  "Nobody  knew 
them  before  the  war.  Why,  in  the  hospital  I  saw 
real  society  women  who  were  doing  all  the  hard  work. 
They  were  wonders  !" 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  233 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  employee  who  had  re- 
buked him  at  the  Mairie  Gaspard  would  have  been 
convinced  just  then  that  there  were  none  but  good 
people  on  the  surface  of  the  earth. 

He  went  around  to  see  all  the  neighbors,  exhibit- 
ing his  coat,  torn  by  a  German  bullet.  At  the  cor- 
ner saloon,  kept  by  old  man  Criquenot,  he  inquired 
regarding  the  new  law  prohibiting  the  sale  of  ab- 
sinthe. 

"Well,  how  about  it,  no  more  absinthe?" 
"Don't  say  a  word  .  .  .  and  step  inside." 
He  went  into  the  back   of  the  store,  where  the 
saloon  keeper  prepared  for  him  a  large  glass  of  the 
forbidden  drink.     In  return  Gaspard  confided  to  him 
his   scheme   of   getting  married   and  legalizing  the 
position  of  the  boy.     He  was  so  proud  of  his  plan 
that  he  also  told  the  butcher  and  the  baker  and  soon 
the  entire  neighborhood  knew  it. 

As  he  was  eager  to  buy  a  new  bonnet  for  his  wife 
and  his  mother  for  the  wedding  day  and  in  view  of 
the  fact  that  funds  were  running  low,  he  arrived  at 
an  almost  heroic  decision,  which  was  to  sell  the  col- 
lection of  books  of  which  he  was  still  proud  and 
which  he  had  so  often  described  to  his  friend  Mousse, 
the  professor.  He  pulled  them  out  from  under  the 
bed,  where  they  had  been  stored  away  since  the  2d 
of  August,  and  took  them  all,  Dumas  as  well  as 
Victor  Hugo,  and  piled  them  into  a  pushcart  with 


234  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

which  he  went  to  the  Quai  des  Grands  Augustins. 
He  was  sad  at  the  thought  of  losing  his  books,  but 
the  thought  of  his  boy  made  him  forget  everything 
else. 

All  he  could  get  for  the  fifty-odd  volumes  was 
eight  francs.  He  was  so  angry  at  the  book  dealer 
that  he  was  almost  arrested. 

"You  old  miser!  You  thief!"  he  called  him. 
"Don't  worry,  we'll  give  you  to  the  Boches  in  ex- 
change for  Alsace-Lorraine!" 

The  book  dealer  was  a  hideous  fellow  upon  whom 
Gaspard's  insults  had  not  the  slightest  effect.  Just 
as  he  was  turning  away  Gaspard  noticed,  on  the 
top  of  a  pile  of  old  books,  a  little  green  volume  with 
the  name  of  his  friend,  Gustave  Mousse,  printed  on 
the  cover.  He  grabbed  it  at  once. 

"Well,  this  will  go  to  the  settle  the  bargain." 

The  book  dealer  objected  and  tried  to  regain  pos- 
session of  the  little  green  book,  but  Gaspard  opened 
the  door  and  ran  out  and  soon  reached  home  proudly 
carrying  the  work  of  his  friend. 

He  opened  the  volume  and  saw  a  few  lines  in  Greek, 
which  he  could  not  understand.  It  was  a  classical 
work,  compiled  and  analyzed  by  Mousse,  but  it  was 
too  much  for  Gaspard,  who  put  it  away  with  the 
intention  of  asking  Mousse  later  to  explain  it  to  him. 

He  gave  the  eight  francs  to  the  two  women  at 
home  and  the  wedding  took  place  on  the  fifth  day. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  235 

He  was  married  at  the  Mairie  and  also  at  the 
church,  this  latter  concession  having  been  obtained 
from  him  by  his  mother,  who  had  said: 

"I  have  a  little  savings  bank  and  I'll  pay  the 
cost." 

Nevertheless  the  mere  fact  that  the  priest  de- 
manded money  for  the  ceremony  brought  back  to 
Gaspard  all  his  old  hatred  of  everything  pertaining 
to  the  Church. 

On  the  way  back  he  said : 

"Of  course,  I'm  not  kicking  .  .  .  because  I  don't 
want  to  ...  and  then  it  isn't  up  to  me,  anyhow  .  .  . 
but  this  fellow  had  a  good  joke  on  us  ...  he'll  soon 
get  rich  by  charging  five  francs  for  a  few  minutes' 
ceremony." 

"What  do  you  care  so  long  as  I'm  paying  the 
bills?"  said  his  mother. 

"Of  course  I  don't,  but  I  hate  to  see  you  robbed." 

His  remarks  greatly  amused  Marie,  while  he  went 
on : 

"Anyhow,  why  did  you  go  and  give  me  a  religion 
before  I  was  old  enough  to  know  what  it  meant?" 

"Why,  don't  you  want  to  believe  in  God?"  asked 
his  mother. 

"I'm  not  talking  about  God  .  .  .  but  I've  got  a 
son  and  I  want  him  to  be  a  free  citizen." 

The  boy  at  this  moment  started  pulling  his 
father's  coat. 


236  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"You  see,"  said  Gaspard,  "he  understands.  And 
I  want  him  to  have  his  own  way.  When  he  is  fifteen 
years  old  I'll  tell  him  to  go  ahead  and  choose.  I'll 
say  'go  ahead,  you're  free;  you  can  become  a  Jew 
if  you  want  to,  but  I  wouldn't  advise  you  to  do  it' 
.  .  .  and  there  you  are." 

Marie  burst  out  laughing,  while  the  mother  said: 

"And  yet  you  told  us  the  nuns  took  such  good 
care  of  you." 

"The  nuns !  You  bet  they  did  .  .  .  but  they  are 
not  priests.  Why,  if  Sister  Venigne  was  in  Paris 
she  would  have  come  to  our  wedding." 

"Well,  but  the  priests  are  just  the  same." 

"Some  of  them  are.  ...  I  met  one  who  was  will- 
ing to  give  me  all  the  wine  in  his  cellar." 

"You  see,"  said  the  mother. 

"Yes,  but  then  think  of  that  other  one  who 
charged  five  francs  for  a  simple  little  wedding  mass." 

"Let's  talk  about  something  else,"  said  Marie. 

There  was  indeed  something  else  which  they  might 
have  talked  about  had  they  known  how  it  was  wor- 
rying Gaspard.  He  kept  on  saying  to  himself,  "I 
should  have  been  back  forty-eight  hours  ago."  And 
the  thought  was  bothering  him  so  much  that  he  kept 
on  talking  about  other  things  in  an  attempt  to  for- 
get it.  He  began  a  long  discussion  as  to  whether 
it  was  preferable  to  lose  a  leg  or  an  arm.  Contrary 
to  the  majority  of  opinions,  Gaspard  announced  he 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  237 

would  rather  lose  an  arm.  Roaming  around  from 
one  place  to  another  was  all  his  pleasure  in  life. 

He  told  them  wonderful  stories  of  the  exploits  of 
the  big  French  guns,  and  as  he  practically  never 
stopped  talking  his  thirst  was  everlasting,  and  they 
stopped  for  a  drink  with  almost  every  acquaintance 
they  met.  He  was  in  fine  spirits  when  his  mother, 
his  wife  and  his  boy  went  to  see  him  off  at  the  Mont- 
parnasse  station.  The  railroad  employee,  after  ex- 
amining the  soldier's  leave,  said: 

"You're  late  .  .  .  you're  going  to  get  into 
trouble." 

"Did  I  ask  you  for  any  information?  Mind  your 
own  damned  business!" 

His  wife,  however,  had  overheard  the  employee's 
remark.  She  became  anxious.  Gaspard  reassured 
her. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  that  I  met  a  General?  .  .  . 
Why,  this  leave  is  just  like  an  excursion  ticket;  it 
can  be  extended  for  any  number  of  days." 

The  women  accompanied  him  through  the  gate 
and  onto  the  platform,  where  the  train  was  waiting. 
His  mother  took  him  in  her  arms  and  holding  him 
close  to  her  said  in  a  trembling  voice :  "Good-by,  my 
big  boy  .  .  .  good-by,  my  boy"  .  .  .  The  old  wom- 
an did  not  go  up  to  the  train,  for  a  special  ticket 
costing  two  sous  was  required,  and  it  had  been  de- 
cided that  she  would  wait  with  the  boy  while  only 
17 


238  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

his  wife  saw  him  safely  in  the  train.  He  gave  her  a 
long,  tender  kiss  and  looked  at  her  with  all  the  pride 
of  a  newly  married  man.  He  was  deeply  moved  him- 
self, but  seeing  her  worried  look,  he  forced  himself 
to  smile  and  said  simply: 

"Don't  worry,  Bibiche  .  .  .  everything  will  be  all 
right." 

When  he  reached  the  barracks  fifty-three  hours 
later  than  the  scheduled  time  the  corporal  exclaimed : 

"Well,  my  friend,  there  is  something  in  store  for 
you!" 

Gaspard  assumed  his  most  dignified  air: 

"Have  I  asked  you  any  questions?  Mind  your 
own  business  and  don't  be  so  familiar.  Who  do  you 
think  you  are?" 

The  Adjutant  came  hurrying  along.  For  two 
nights  he  had  hardly  been  able  to  sleep  for  the 
thought  of  what  he  was  going  to  say  to  the  missing 
man. 

"Well,  it's  coming  your  way,  all  right,  and  you're 
on  active  service,  too!  Court-martial  and  hard 
labor,  that's  what  you'll  get." 

Gaspard  was  still  very  dignified. 

"I'll  explain  to  the  officers." 

The  Lieutenant  soon  arrived. 

"Ah !  ah !  So  here  is  the  deserter  .  .  .  Well,  what 
have  you  got  to  say  for  yourself?" 

Gaspard  replied  with  the  same  dignified  air : 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  239 

"I  want  to  speak  to  the  Captain." 

The  Captain  had  been  out  at  the  front.  He  was 
a  Parisian  and  a  friend  of  Puche.  For  these  reasons 
Gaspard  had  no  fear  of  him.  He  lost  his  assurance, 
however,  when  he  saw  the  officer,  who  gave  him  a 
very  severe  look. 

"Captain,"  he  stammered,  "it's  all  the  fault  of 
the  Mairie.  I  explained  to  them  all  about  my  leave, 
but  they  wouldn't  listen  to  me  and  told  me  it  was 
the  only  way  I  could  straighten  out  my  little  boy's 
position  ...  I  couldn't  go  away  with  that  thought 
in  my  head  ...  I  wouldn't  like  to  have  them  say 
that  if  I  should  be  killed  at  the  front  .  .  .  Now  my 
boy's  name  is  Gaspard,  and  if  the  Germans  begin  it 
over  again  twenty  years  from  now,  well,  he'll  be 
ready." 

"The  rule  is  there  and  it  must  be  followed,"  said 
the  Captain.  "I  will  have  to  have  you  arrested." 

"Captain,"  replied  Gaspard,  "I  would  like  to  re- 
turn to  the  front  at  once  to  fight  the  Germans." 

"At  once!"  said  the  Captain.  "Well,  you  know, 
the  trains  are  not  running  every  three  minutes,  like 
the  trolley  cars  back  home  in  Paris.  There  will  be 
no  departure  before  ten  days." 

"You  see,  Captain,  it  was  all  for  the  sake  of  the 
kid." 

"Yes,  but  yours  is  not  the  only  kid  .  .  .  and  then 
there  is  a  story  about  a  gendarme.  We  have  received 


240  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

a  report.  What  did  you  do  on  your  way  home?  Did 
you  insult  a  gendarme?" 

"Insult  him?"  said  Gaspard.  "Oh,  the  liar!  I'll 
tell  you,  Captain,  just  what  happened.  You  see,  I 
was  walking  along.  All  of  a  sudden  I  turned  around 
and  saw  this  man  coming  along  behind  me.  He 
seemed  to  be  trying  to  catch  up  with  me,  so  I  kept 
on  going  right  ahead  faster  and  faster. 

"I  said  to  myself  that  if  he  thought  he  had  some- 
thing on  me  I  would  make  him  run  for  it.  He  finally 
caught  up  with  me,  but  was  almost  exhausted  after 
his  long  run.  He  said,  'Why  are  you  running?'  and 
I  said,  'Because  I  am  in  a  hurry.'  Then  he  said, 
'Why  should  you  be  in  a  hurry?'  'Probably  because 
I  am  late,'  said  I. 

"He  didn't  seem  to  like  that  and  told  me  that  I 
seemed  to  be  trying  to  run  away.  Then  he  asked 
me  if  I  was  on  leave.  I  told  him,  'Of  course  I'm  on 
leave,'  .  .  .  and  then  he  wanted  to  see  my  papers, 
and  then " 

"See  here,"  said  the  Captain,  "are  you  trying  to 
make  a  fool  out  of  me  just  the  same  as  you  did  to 
the  gendarme?  The  point  is,  did  you  tell  him 
that  you  would  rather  be  a  Boche  than  a  gen- 
darme ?" 

"Captain  ...  let  me  explain." 

"No  .  .  .  that  will  do.  First  of  all,  you  will  go 
to  prison  and  then  we  will  see." 


PRIVATE    GASPARD 


This  was  final,  and  Gaspard  hardly  had  time  to 
shake  hands  with  Mousse,  who  had  returned  to  the 
barracks  in  good  time  and  had  been  greatly  worried 
over  Gaspard's  absence.  Gaspard  spent  the  night 
in  the  prison  and  the  next  morning  when  he  came  out 
he  looked  as  if  he  hadn't  had  a  minute's  sleep.  The 
men  who  had  been  with  him  said  that  he  had  cried 
almost  all  night  and  had  kept  on  saying  : 

"There  is  no  justice  any  more!  It's  a  fine  country 
to  be  working  for!  They  throw  you  in  jail  just  be- 
cause you  want  to  give  your  kids  a  name  and  a  chance 
in  life." 

Gaspard's  despair  impressed  the  Captain,  who  said 
to  him: 

"Gaspard,  you  won't  have  to  serve  your  eight  days' 
sentence.  There  is  a  call  for  twenty  volunteers  to 
start  out  in  forty-eight  hours.  Do  you  want  to 
go?" 

"Do  I  want  to  go  !"  exclaimed  Gaspard. 

"Well,  then,  for  the  next  two  days  you  can  help 
us  out  in  the  storehouse,  where  we  are  equipping  the 
new  recruits." 

Gaspard  was  delighted.  But  suddenly  the  Ad- 
jutant appeared  on  the  scene.  He  held  the  report 
in  his  hand  and  an  ugly  flame  could  be  seen  in  his 
eye.  The  trouble  this  time  was  a  complaint  against 
Gaspard  from  the  police  department  in  Paris. 

The  Captain  turned  red  with  anger. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD 


"What  !  ...  in  Paris  too  !  .  .  .  Did  you  fight  with 
a  policeman  too?" 

"Gee  !  Captain,  that's  a  shame  .  .  .  just  listen. 
.  .  .  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  ...  Well,  I  just 
reached  the  Montparnasse  railroad  station  with  my 
mother,  my  kid  and  Bibiche  .  .  .  Bibiche,  you  know, 
is  my  wife.  .  .  .  Well,  at  the  gate  I  turned  around 
to  give  the  place  a  last  look  when  this  brass  buttoned 
fool.  .  .  ." 

"I  have  always  told  you  to  use  more  decent  lan- 
guage." 

"Well,  this  .  .  .  whatever  you  call  him,  walks  up 
to  me  and  says  :  'Come  in  or  go  out,  but  don't  stand 
there.'  Well  ...  I  suppose  I  was  wrong,  I  admit 
I  probably  was  wrong,  but  I  just  said  to  him:  'You'll 
just  keep  your  high  talk  till  the  war  is  over.  Are 
you  going  to  try  to  give  orders  to  a  poilu?'  Why, 
Captain,  his  face  turned  just  as  red  as  my  cap,  and 
then  he  asked  me  for  my  name,  my  number  and  the 
age  of  my  mother  ...  I  thought  it  was  pretty  de- 
cent of  him  to  take  so  much  interest  in  myself  and 
my  family,  and  then,  as  a  sort  of  parting  salute  I 
just  simply  said:  'I  don't  have  to  ask  you  for  your 
name  because  I  know  it  must  be  damn  fool  ;  nor  do  I 
have  to  know  your  profession,  for  with  a  face  like 
that  it's  a  sure  thing  that  you  have  never  done  a 
real  day's  work.'  " 

"You  told  him  that?" 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  243 

"You  bet  I  did!" 

"And  you  seem  to  be  proud  of  it  too !  Go  on  back 
to  the  prison,  and  quick!" 

"But  how  about  equipping  the  recruits?" 

"You  heard  what  I  said.    Back  to  prison  you  go." 

While  talking  to  the  Captain  he  had  recovered  his 
good  spirits,  but  he  became  deeply  depressed  as  soon 
as  he  was  locked  up  again.  He  came  out  of  the 
prison,  however,  after  twenty-four  hours  instead  of 
forty-eight,  as  it  had  been  decided  to  advance  the 
hour  of  departure  of  the  volunteers. 

The  Captain  called  him. 

"You  are  going  to  start  right  away.  Are  you 
glad?" 

"Right  away  I  .  .  .  Really !  .  .  .  Are  you  coming 
with  us,  Captain?" 

The  Captain  understood  and  appreciated  his  senti- 
ment and  shook  hands  with  him  warmly. 

"Come  and  see  me  when  you  get  all  your  equip- 
ment ready,"  he  said. 

Gaspard  was  overcome  with  joy  and  forgot  all 
about  the  prison.  He  had  hardly  left  the  office  of  the 
Captain  when  a  note  arrived  from  the  Major,  to- 
gether with  a  report  from  the  internal  revenue  of- 
ficials, complaining  that  the  soldier  Gaspard  had  been 
found  carrying  a  bottle  of  alcohol  under  his  tunic 
and  that  he  had  been  insulting  to  the  inspectors  who 
spoke  to  him  about  it. 


244  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

This  was  too  much  for  the  Captain,  who  hardly 
knew  whether  to  laugh  or  to  grow  angry  again.  He 
took  the  report  and  wrote  clear  across  it  in  large 
letters,  "This  soldier  has  left  for  the  front."  Then 
he  called  out  to  his  assistant: 

"Get  that  lunatic  off  right  away  and  don't  keep 
him  here  another  second.  Why,  he  would  wind  up 
before  a  court-martial!" 

"I  told  you  so,"  said  the  Adjutant. 

"I  don't  want  to  see  him  again  under  any  circum- 
stances. Tell  him  to  clear  out." 

When  Gaspard  was  informed  of  the  Captain's  de- 
cision he  was  very  much  worried.  He  was  all  ready 
to  start,  with  haversack  on  his  back,  canvas  bag 
hanging  from  his  shoulder  and  rifle  in  hand.  Al- 
though he  had  developed  almost  a  feeling  of  contempt 
for  Moreau,  he  went  up  to  him  and  said : 

"Listen  here,  pal  .  .  .  The  Captain  is  angry.  I 
know  why.  I'll  admit  it.  I  have  done  a  lot  of  fool 
things,  damn  fool  things,  but  ...  I  don't  like  to  go 
away  like  this,  because  you  know  .  .  .  he's  a  good 
sort  ...  I  bet  he  wasn't  afraid  of  the  Boches.  .  .  . 
So  this  is  what  I  wanted  to  tell  you:  I  wanted  to  go 
to  him  just  before  starting  for  the  front  and  give 
him  .  .  .  just  as  a  souvenir  of  Gaspard  .  .  .  some 
snails  which  I  brought  from  home,  from  Paris  .  .  . 
here  they  are. 

"You  take  them  and  .   .   .  give  them  to  him.     Just 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  245 

say:  'Don't  be  angry,  Captain.  This  is  a  souvenir 
of  the  wedding  of  Gaspard,  who  wants  to  thank  you 
for  sending  him  off  like  this,  .  .  .  and  then  .  .  . 
write  me  a  letter  and  tell  me  how  he  took  it  and  if 
he  smiled  .  .  .  I'd  be  real  pleased  if  I  thought  it 
could  make  him  smile. 

"You  see,  I'm  going  away  and  I'm  smiling  .  .  . 
and  my  pal,  Monsieur  Mousse,  who  is  a  real  pal, 
you  see  he's  smiling  to.  ...  It's  just  like  a  show: 
You  take  the  tickets  and  you  start  all  over  again 
right  away." 

They  were  only  twenty  when  they  left  the  barracks 
this  time;  it  was  no  longer  the  imposing  departure 
of  a  regiment,  but  merely  a  small  reenforcement  for 
a  company  at  the  front.  But  with  Gaspard  among 
the  number  even  so  small  a  group  assumed  an  air  of 
importance. 

He  was  in  the  first  rank,  marching  beside  his  pal, 
and  once  again  he  was  going  to  battle  with  a  smile 
on  his  lips  and  humming  a  merry  tune.  Mousse,  who 
didn't  know  just  how  to  feel,  marched  alongside  of 
his  friend  wondering  that  this  little  insignificant  town 
should  suddenly  assume  so  much  importance  to  him, 
and  he  feared  that  he  was  never  going  to  see  it 
again. 

At  the  railroad  station  an  officer  was  waiting  for 
them.  Gaspard's  jovial  air  appealed  to  him,  and 
he  said; 


246  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"Ah,  here  are  the  volunteers !  You  are  brave  men, 
and  true  Frenchmen  every  one  of  you." 

This  pleased  Gaspard  immensely. 

"We  are  all  good  pals,"  he  said.  "And  we're  going 
to  go  out  and  get  the  Boches  if  we  have  to  get  killed 
to  the  last  man." 

"Vive  la  France !"  shouted  the  officer,  and  the  men 
repeated  the  words  in  a  long  and  powerful  cheer. 

The  officer  watched  them  pile  into  two  third-class 
compartments  and  then  left  them.  In  taking  off  his 
bag  and  belt  Gaspard  dropped  a  photograph  on  the 
floor. 

"You're  losing  your  wife  and  your  kid,"  said 
Mousse  quietly. 

These  words  impressed  Gaspard,  who  replied. 

"I'm  losing  them,  yes  .  .  .  but  I'll  get  them  back 
all  right." 

"If  you  don't,"  said  one  of  the  soldiers,  "there 
won't  be  much  harm  done,  seeing  that  you  told  the 
officer  that  you  were  willing  to  get  yourself 
killed." 

Gaspard  looked  up  quickly  and  felt  for  a  moment 
worried  at  the  thought  that  he  might  have  gone  too 
far  in  his  patriotic  outburst.  He  felt  that  he  needed 
some  advice  from  Mousse,  who  knew  more  about  such 
things,  but  Mousse  had  nothing  to  say.  Eager,  how- 
ever, to  reconcile  his  contradictory  statements,  he 
said  philosophically: 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  247 

"Well,  you  see,  the  Captain  is  a  good  sort  and 
this  is  his  game.  .  .  .  He  was  pretty  decent  with  us 
.  .  .  and  believe  me,  that's  the  sort  of  stuff  he  likes 
to  hear  ...  so  why  not  give  it  to  him?" 


VII 

AFTER  twenty  hours  of  weary  travelling  with 
practically   no    sleep,   beyond   an   occasional 
nap,  Gaspare!  and  his  comrades  disembarked 
from  the  train  in  a  gray,  cold  and  foggy  country 
where  a  thin  rain  was  falling.     Qn  the  mud-covered 
platform   of  the  little  railroad  station   a  big  stout 
territorial  who  was  on  guard  inquired  whether  they 
were  new  recruits. 

"Well,  what  about  it?"  said  Gaspard. 

"Because  if  you  are  newcomers  you  would  have 
done  better  to  stay  where  you  were." 

"You  poor  fool!"  said  Gaspard.     "Where  do  you 
come  from?" 

"All  right,"  said  the  other.     "You'll  find  out  for 
yourself." 

"Well,  I  should  worry,"  said  Gaspard. 

"Maybe   you   will   worry   later   on.  .  .  .  This    is 
Dead  Man's  Wood,  and  no  one  comes  back  from  it." 

"Well,  why   tell   it   to   me?"   exclaimed   Gaspard. 
"Put  it  to  music  and  sing  it." 

"That  will  do,"  said  the  sergeant.     "Form  fours 
and  forward  march !" 

248 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  249 

The  wind  blew  the  rain  into  the  soldiers'  eyes  and 
in  the  distance  heavy  firing  could  be  heard.  Mousse 
had  nothing  to  say ;  he  felt  a  chill  in  his  heart.  The 
little  group  of  men  marched  along  through  a  small 
wood  covered  with  fog  and  their  steps  could  hardly 
be  heard,  so  thick  were  the  dead  leaves  under  their 
feet. 

Suddenly  they  turned  into  a  main  road  where  a 
battery  of  artillery  emerged  unexpectedly  from  the 
mist,  with  horses,  cannon  and  gun  carriages.  The 
horses  were  wading  through  pools  of  mud  and  water 
was  dripping  from  the  wheels.  The  men  were  en- 
deavoring to  protect  their  mounts  as  much  as  pos- 
sible with  their  coats,  which  were  covered  with  mud. 
But  they  looked  nothing  like  the  twenty  infantry- 
men after  they  had  passed  them  on  the  road,  for  the 
horses'  hoofs  and  the  heavy  wheels  had  covered  Gas- 
pard  and  his  comrades  from  head  to  foot  with  a 
thick  layer  of  mud.  They  called  out  a  protest  to 
the  artillerymen,  who  went  on  without  replying,  rid- 
ing their  horses  as  though  they  were  glued  to  their 
saddles  and  dragging  behind  them  the  squeaking  gun 
carriages.  They  seemed  to  have  little  but  contempt 
for  these  men  who  went  to  war  with  small  rifles  in 
their  hands. 

The  twenty  volunteers  marched  on  silently  for 
about  fifteen  minutes  and  then  reached  a  mass  of  ruins 
which  still  bore  the  name  of  a  village.  Only  a  few 


250  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

walls  were  standing;  most  of  the  houses  had  been 
reduced  to  stone  heaps  from  which  here  and  there 
a  shaft  would  emerge,  seemingly  calling  out  for  help. 
But  no  more  help  was  needed  there.  Everything  was 
death  and  desolation.  Not  a  living  soul  was  to  be 
seen.  ...  It  seemed,  however,  as  if  some  of  the  stone 
heaps  were  moving  and  black  shadows  could  be  dis- 
cerned around  them. 

"What  is  it?"  some  one  asked. 

"Soldiers,"  Gaspard  replied. 

"What  are  they  doing  there?"  asked  Mousse. 

"They  are  encamped  there,"  said  the  sergeant. 
'And  that's  just  what  we're  going  to  do." 

He  halted  the  men  in  front  of  the  remains  of  a 
stone  wall  with  one  solitary  window  which  no  longer 
had  anything  to  protect.  They  advanced  along  the 
wall  and  suddenly  came  to  a  hole  in  the  ground  from 
which  the  top  of  a  ladder  emerged. 

"Go  to  it,  one  by  one,  and  watch  your  step." 

"It  looks  as  if  we  were  going  down  to  hell,"  said 
Mousse. 

The  sergeant  replied: 

"We  are  going  to  reenforce  the  Tenth  company." 

An  objectionable  odor  greeted  the  men  as  they 
entered  the  cellar  where  shadows  could  be  seen  seated 
or  lying  along  the  walls. 

Some  one  called  out: 

"New  recruits !" 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  251 

Gaspard  did  not  care  much  for  the  atmosphere, 
but  he  called  out  nevertheless: 

"Is  there  any  one  here  from  the  Rue  d'la  Gaite?" 

"Here  you  are,"  some  one  replied. 

A  big  tall  soldier  stepped  out  from  the  shadow. 

They  shook  hands  laughingly.  Gaspard  tried  to 
get  a  good  look  at  the  man  who  was  greeting  him 
so  genially  and  said  with  a  suspicious  air: 

"Do  you  come  from  the  Rue  d'la  Gaite?" 

The  other,  who  did  not  seem  to  have  a  tooth  in 
his  mouth,  replied,  his  jaws  wide  apart: 

"No  mistake  about  it.  My  home  is  right  close  to 
the  canal." 

"The  canal?" 

"Yes,  right  beside  it." 

Gaspard  laid  his  hand  on  the  other  man's  shoulder. 

"What  is  this?    A  joke?" 

"No,  I  tell  you.     My  home  is  in  L " 

"L Why,  you  fool,  is  that  what  you  call  the 

Rue  d'la  Gaite?  .  .  .  Don't  you  know  there  is  only 
one  in  the  world  ?  What  a  fool !  And  to  think  that's 
what  they  permit  to  vote!" 

Mousse  had  found  a  stack  of  hay  on  which  he 
seated  himself  and  Gaspard  stretched  himself  out 
alongside  of  his  pal. 

"This  place  is  pretty  damp,"  said  Gaspard. 

A  voice  replied : 

"Possibly  your  Honor  would  like  a  feather  bed." 


PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"Don't  worry,"  said  another.  "You'll  soon  get 
something  better  than  that." 

"Well,  if  you're  hanging  around  to  see  me  worry 
you'll  have  a  long  wait,"  replied  Gaspard. 

Three  men  were  playing  cards  in  a  corner  and  their 
voices  calling  out  their  hands  were  all  that  was  heard 
in  the  next  few  minutes.  When  they  stopped  talk- 
ing water  could  be  heard  trickling  through  the  earth 
above  and  Mousse  felt  a  chill  run  through  his  body. 
He  said  quietly: 

"This  thing  will  kill  us." 

"Poor  mother!  If  you  could  only  see  your  son 
now,"  said  Gaspard  jokingly. 

"By  the  way,"  he  added,  "when  are  we  going  to 
eat?" 

The  big  toothless  soldier  was  quick  to  supply  the 
information  that  the  others  had  already  had  their 
meal.  Gaspard  again  lost  his  temper. 

"You  poor  fool!  Who  asked  you  about  yourself? 
All  I  have  had  to  eat  is  a  biscuit.  Do  you  think 
that's  enough  for  a  man  on  a  day  like  this?  I  am 
willing  to  belong  to  the  Government,  but  they'll  have 
to  feed  me  or  there'll  be  some  noise.  You  can  bet 
that  the  Cabinet  Ministers  have  more  to  eat  than 
they  want  and  are  getting  fat !" 

"Do  you  want  a  piece  of  my  chocolate?"  said 
Mousse,  still  talking  in  the  same  quiet  and  unex- 
cited  way. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  253 

The  sergeant,  who  had  gone  out  for  a  while,  came 
down  the  ladder  again  and  said : 

"Up,  men !    Re-enforcements  are  needed." 

"Where?" 

"Where  do  you  think?     Out  in  front,  of  course." 

Murmurs  of  discontent  and  complaints  were  heard 
on  all  sides,  and  protests  came  from  almost  all  the 
men,  "I  am  sick."  .  .  .  "So  am  I."  .  .  .  "I'm 
not  going  to  move."  .  .  .  "I'll  wait  for  them 
here." 

But  despite  their  protests  all  of  them  got  ready, 
and  still  murmuring  and  cursing  each  other  they 
crawled  up  the  ladder  out  into  the  fresh  am 

"But  we,"  said  Gaspard,  "we  just  got  here.  Sure- 
ly they  don't  expect  us  to  go." 

"Why,  of  course  not,"  said  the  sergeant.  "You're 
going  to  be  exempted  and  live  on  your  income." 

"I'm  not  talking  about  that.  But  we've  had  noth- 
ing to  eat." 

"Come  on,  and  get  a  move  on,"  said  the  sergeant. 
"I  suppose  you're  one  of  those  slackers  who  are  too 
proud  to  fight." 

"What!"  shouted  Gaspard.  "Just  repeat  that 
.  .  .  because  you  know  your  rank  doesn't  bother  me 
.  .  .  just  repeat  it!" 

"Well,  then,  what  are  you  kicking  about?" 

"I  am  not  kicking.     All  I  want  is  something  to 

eat." 

18 


254  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"I  haven't  got  anything  to  give  you  to  eat.  Would 
you  like  to  chew  my  shoulder  straps?" 

"Go  on!     Don't  try  to  imitate  the  Adjutant." 

"What  did  you  say?  .  .  .  Just  be  careful,  friend, 
because  you  know  I  don't  give  a  damn  if  you  are  a 
Parisian.  .  .  ." 

A  tremendous  explosion  interrupted  the  discus- 
sion. 

It  was  what  the  French  troops  call  a  "marmite" 
and  the  English  a  "Jack  Johnson,"  an  enormous  Ger- 
man shell  exploding  only  a  few  yards  away.  Gaspard 
was  almost  pleased  to  hear  evidence  of  real  warfare 
once  again  at  close  range,  but  Mousse,  who  was 
climbing  up  the  ladder  at  the  time,  remained  motion- 
less for  a  moment,  deeply  shocked  by  the  violence  of 
the  explosion. 

Up  above,  however,  the  men  were  not  in  the  slight- 
est impressed.  Many  of  them  were  filling  their  pipes. 

"Forward,"  said  the  sergeant. 

They  were  about  fifty  in  number,  each  one  equip- 
ped with  a  spade.  They  formed  in  fours  as  best 
they  could  and  marched  along  slowly  through  the 
mud. 

Bang!  .  .  .  Bang!  .  .  .  The  big  guns  went  on, 
and  fifty  yards  in  front  of  the  men  the  road  was 
blown  up  in  its  full  width  by  a  shell. 

"We  are  in  for  it  this  time,"  said  Gaspard,  add- 
ing "Poor  mother,  if  you  could  only  see  your  son !" 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  255 

They  turned  into  a  field  where  their  feet  sank  in 
the  mud  to  the  ankles  and  they  went  down  through 
a  narrow  excavation  where  the  mud  was  knee  deep. 
The  passage  was  so  narrow  that  the  men's  rifles 
and  haversacks  impeded  them  in  their  march. 

"My  rifle  is  caked  with  mud,"  said  Gaspard. 

"Damn  that  kepi!"  exclaimed  Mousse,  fishing  his 
cap  out  of  a  pool  of  water. 

"Get  a  move  on  there  in  front!"  shouted  the  men 
in  the  rear  of  the  column. 

It  was  easier  said  than  done.  They  were  having 
a  terrible  time  extricating  their  feet  from  the  mud, 
into  which  they  were  sinking  deeper  at  each  step. 
Slipping,  stumbling,  falling,  they  crawled  along ;  they 
found  no  assistance  in  holding  on  to  the  sides  of  the 
trench,  for  the  mud  was  just  as  soft  there.  At  every 
other  step  their  rifles  would  fall  to  the  ground  and 
they  would  pick  them  up  covered  with  mud.  In  less 
than  five  minutes  the  men  were  caked  with  dirt  from 
head  to  foot,  and  these  fifty  soldiers,  marching  one 
by  one  under  these  disheartening  conditions,  seemed 
to  be  fighting  to  prevent  the  earth  from  closing  up 
over  their  heads.  Like  human  beings  caught  in  quick- 
sand they  went  on,  fighting  for  every  step  like  men 
buried  alive,  making  desperate  efforts  to  reach  once 
more  solid  ground. 

At  the  end  of  this  passage  they  came  out  into  what 
was  once  a  small  wood,  but  there  was  nothing  left 


256  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

except  tree  trunks  and  dead  branches,  which,  how- 
ever, offered  sufficient  shelter  to  enable  the  men  to 
step  out  into  the  fresh  air. 

They  had  hardly  had  time  to  get  out  before  they 
passed  a  company  of  men  coming  from  the  trenches 
who  presented  a  pitiful  sight.  They  were  gray  with 
mud  and  dirt  and  seemed  to  be  awakening  after  some 
horrible  nightmare.  They,  too,  carried  spades,  and 
the  other  parts  of  their  equipment  were  caked  with 
mud.  They  came  from  a  field  where  a  long  row  of 
crosses  could  be  seen,  each  one  surmounted  by  a  red 
kepi.  The  appearance  of  the  men  was  so  tragic 
that  one  could  almost  have  believed  that  they  were 
the  dead  men  who  had  just  been  relieved  and  had 
risen  from  their  graves. 

Gaspard  was  deeply  moved  and  could  not  refrain 
from  uttering  an  exclamation  of  surprise  mingled 
with  terror. 

Mousse  was  too  much  out  of  breath  to  say  a  word. 

The  soft,  muddy  ground  suddenly  opened  up  into 
a  large  pool  filled  with  yellowish  water. 

"Fill  your  water  bottles,"  ordered  the  sergeant. 

"What?"  queried  Gaspard. 

The  other  soldiers  were  greatly  amused  at  Gas- 
pard's  surprise.  A  tall  bearded  chap  standing  close 
to  him  said: 

"Perhaps  the  Baron  is  used  to  drinking  filtered 
water." 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  257 

"Go  to  thunder!"  said  Gaspard  furiously. 

He  dipped  his  water  bottle  into  the  pool  and 
Mousse  did  the  same. 

Mousse  was  at  a  loss  to  know  just  what  was  hap- 
pening to  himself.  He  no  longer  felt  sleepy,  as  was 
his  custom  while  living  in  the  barracks,  but  his  mus- 
cles seemed  to  be  giving  way  and  he  felt  certain  that 
he  was  marching  on  to  death.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
there  was  enough  there  to  give  every  man  the  same 
impression,  with  the  wintry  weather,  the  fog  and  the 
deep  sticky  mud  which  covered  everything.  Mud 
everywhere,  on  their  clothes,  their  hands,  their  faces 
and,  seemingly,  almost  in  their  souls. 

When  they  entered  another  communicating  trench, 
which  was  to  bring  them  right  up  to  the  front  line 
of  intrenchments,  Mousse  felt  that  he  was  now  go- 
ing into  a  depth  from  which  he  would  never  emerge. 
Water  was  trickling  through  his  boots  and  his  feet 
were  freezing.  At  his  side  all  he  ever  heard  from 
Gaspard  was  an  occasional  oath. 

The  trench  in  which  they  stopped  and  over  the 
top  of  which  bullets  were  flying  was  no  better  than 
the  one  through  which  they  had  just  passed.  It 
was  just  as  exposed,  just  as  wet  and  just  as  muddy. 
The  parapet,  however,  was  of  stone  and  there  was 
a  row  of  primitive  benches  cut  in  the  earth.  The 
men  sat  down,  their  feet  soaking  in  water,  and  re- 
mained silent  for  a  while. 


258  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

Gaspard  was  seated  between  Mousse  and  the  big 
toothless  soldier,  who  never  lost  a  chance  of  making 
fun  of  his  neighbor. 

Two  men  had  been  designated  as  lookouts.  The 
others  smoked  and  yawned  on  their  seats,  their  back 
turned  toward  the  enemy;  some  were  chewing  bread 
crusts  which  they  had  extricated  from  their  bags  with 
their  muddy  hands. 

A  shell  fell  near  by,  but  no  explosion  was  heard 
and  it  was  swallowed  up  by  the  earth.  Gaspard  was 
resting  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  holding  his  head  with 
both  hands. 

Mousse,  after  manicuring  his  nails  with  a  pen- 
knife, took  from  his  coat  pocket  a  sheet  of  paper  and 
pencil  and  began  to  write  feverishly. 

Gaspard  looked  at  him  and  said: 

"What  are  you  doing?     Writing?" 

"Yes.     It's  for  you." 

"For  me?" 

"Yes,  listen  ...  I  have  an  idea  that  I'm  not  go- 
ing to  get  out  of  this." 

"Ah!" 

"So  I'm  going  to  ask  you,  if  you  get  away,  to  put 
it  in  your  pocket  and  deliver  it  at  the  address  indi- 
cated in  Paris." 

"Is  it  for  your  sweetheart?" 

"No.  .  .  .  It's  for  a  friend." 

"Ah!" 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  259 

"It's  a  little  literary  problem  which  I  am  anxious 
to  settle — in  regard  to  an  edition  of  Sophocles." 

"Of  what?" 

"Well,  it  wouldn't  be  of  any  interest  to  you." 

"Why  not?    I'm  not  a  fool." 

"I  didn't  say  you  were." 

"Well,  all  right.     Good  night!" 

Before  turning  his  back  to  his  friend  he  took  the 
paper  and  slipped  it  in  the  lining  of  his  cap,  where 
he  already  carried  the  photograph  of  his  little  boy. 
On  the  other  side  the  toothless  soldier  was  sighing 
with  his  mouth  full  of  bread. 

"What  worries  me  ...  is  my  house.  .  .  ." 

Another  shell  exploded.  Gaspard  raised  his  head 
and  asked  his  neighbor,  "What's  the  trouble  with 
your  house?  Isn't  your  wife  there?" 

"Yes,  she's  there,  all  right,  but  she's  only  a  wom- 
an. She  doesn't  know.  .  .  ." 

"Doesn't  know  what?" 

"She  doesn't  know  anything." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Well,  she  just  wrote  to  me  that  old  Father  Pla- 
cide  charged  her  forty  sous  when  she  brought  him 
our  cow." 

"What  did  she  bring  your  cow  to  him  for?" 

"What  do  you  think?" 

"Well,  I  suppose  you  were  thinking  of  giving  me 
that  money,"  said  Gaspard. 


260  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"To  you?  Yes,  you  bet!  That's  just  what  I  am 
thinking  of  ...  And  my  poor  horses — I  wonder 
how  they  are." 

"Your  horses?" 

"Yes ;  all  kinds  of  things  might  have  happened  to 
them  in  my  absence." 

"Well,  what  the  thunder  do  I  care !"  shouted  Gas- 
pard,  who  was  getting  tired  of  the  other's  drivel. 

"Yes,  you're  like  all  the  others.  Some  day  you'll 
find  out  that  a  hundred  sous  make  five  francs." 

"Well,  I  know  right  now  that  a  miser  is  a  damn 
fool." 

Turning  to  Mousse,  Gaspard  added: 

"A  fine  lot  these  farmers  from  Normandy !  All 
they  think  of  is  money." 

He  followed  this  up  with  a  violent  oath  while 
stamping  his  feet  to  drive  away  the  cold. 

Bullets  and  shells  kept  flying  over  their  heads  as 
the  time  went  slowly  by  in  this  terrible  period  when 
men,  suffering  and  miserable,  awaited  their  fate.  In 
their  minds  they  had  confused  memories  of  their 
homes  and  those  they  loved,  but  their  flesh  was  frozen 
and  stiff,  and  not  one  knew  just  why  they  were  asked 
to  suffer,  freeze  and  die  .  .  .  but  all  were  willing, 
to  the  last  man,  and  prepared  to  obey  every  order. 

A  misty  winter  day  is  in  itself  extremely  monoto- 
nous, but  night  for  that  very  reason  has  no  terrors. 
Gaspard  covered  his  head  with  his  damp  blanket, 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  261 

and  Mousse,  who  was  so  cold  that  he  was  trembling 
all  over,  cuddled  himself  close  to  his  friend.  .  .  . 
In  the  trenches  there  is  just  as  much  life  at  night 
as  during  the  day.  The  men  asleep  snore  and  whine, 
crowding  themselves  against  each  other  to  keep 
warm.  They  hold  each  other  tight  in  a  tender  and 
sincere  spirit  of  fraternity,  not  only  to  keep  them- 
selves warm  by  the  contact  of  their  bodies  but  also 
to  keep  up  each  other's  spirits  and  drive  away  as 
much  as  possible  all  black  thoughts. 

The  most  sinister  hour,  more  so  than  all  the  shad- 
ows of  the  night,  is  the  break  of  dawn.  At  that 
hour  no  one  is  surprised  to  die;  it  seems  as  though 
the  veil  of  death  were  already  about  you.  With 
empty  stomachs  and  trembling  lips  the  men  receive 
the  order  to  be  ready  for  the  attack,  with  their 
bayonets  in  place.  The  contact  of  the  fingers  with 
the  white  steel  gives  the  men  a  new  chill,  while  the 
bayonets  shine  lugubriously  in  the  cold  morning  air. 

Mousse  remained  silent;  he  was  thinking  that  in 
jumping  out  of  the  trench  he  would  probably  enter 
with  one  leap  into  another  world.  Gaspard,  on  the 
other  hand,  had  no  such  thought.  He  was  pulling 
at  his  mustache  and  repeating  his  eternal,  "  'Cre  bon 
Dieu!" 

It  is  a  difficult  matter  to  get  out  of  a  trench,  par- 
ticularly when  a  man  believes  that  he  is  living  the 
last  minute  of  his  life.  There  is  compensation,  how- 


262  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

ever,  in  the  pleasant  surprise  of  no  longer  being 
buried  under  the  earth.  Each  man  finds  that  he  is 
taller  than  he  thought  he  was  and,  with  their  hands 
tightly  closed  around  their  rifles,  they  march  on 
bravely,  watching  the  bullets  fly  by.  The  death- 
dealing  missiles  arrive  suddenly,  sweeping  through 
the  air,  and  some  of  the  men  drop  to  the  ground 
without  a  cry.  When  they  fall  forward  their  bodies 
are  often  stopped  by  their  rifles,  which,  falling  ahead 
of  them,  stick  into  the  ground  and  support  them. 
And  the  bodies  of  these  poor  unfortunates  remain  in 
this  tragic  position,  dead,  but  almost  standing  up- 
right, horrible  to  the  eye,  as  are  all  bodies  of  the 
dead. 

As  soon  as  the  bullets  began  to  come  along  Mousse 
said  to  Gaspard: 

"You  won't  forget  about  my  letter?" 

Shells  began  to  explode  all  around  them  a  few 
seconds  later. 

The  enemy  was  only  three  hundred  meters  away. 
The  Germans  could  be  seen  coming  out  of  the  earth 
in  small  groups  of  men  who  seemed  to  be  moving 
sections  of  a  wall.  They  were  soon  to  be  face  to 
face,  and  the  Frenchmen,  despite  the  fast  flying  bul- 
lets, stepped  closer  to  each  other. 

The  German  wall  was  coming  nearer  and  seemed 
to  be  growing  darker  and  darker  as  it  approached. 
Gaps  were  opened  from  time  to  time  by  the  French 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  263 

fire,  but  they  were  quickly  filled.  The  spiked  helmets 
could  now  be  seen.  No  more  shots  were  fired  and 
the  men  kept  on  advancing  against  each  other, 
bravely,  without  a  word,  without  a  cry.  .  .  .  When 
the  two  bodies  of  men  were  separated  only  by  a  dis- 
tance of  about  fifty  meters  they  changed  their  direc- 
tions, as  though  they  had  received  orders  from 
above ;  one  turned  to  the  right,  the  other  to  the  left, 
and  it  seemed  as  though  they  were  both  animated 
by  a  mutual  agreement  not  to  meet  face  to  face,  or 
possibly  by  mutual  terror.  They  were  like  two  dogs 
turning  around  each  other  before  beginning  to  fight. 

In  the  midst  of  this  tragic  calm,  however,  a  new 
rain  of  shells  came  along,  rending,  mutilating  and 
tearing  away  parts  of  the  field  and  parts  of  the  men. 

One  of  the  shells  threw  both  Gaspard  and  Mousse 
to  the  ground. 

When  the  thick  cloud  of  black  and  suffocating 
smoke  had  rolled  away  Gaspard,  stupefied,  tried  to 
stand  up,  but  fell  back  with  a  cry  of  pain. 

"Oh !  ...  my  leg !  ...  'ere  bon  Dieu !" 

His  right  leg  was  broken  just  below  the  knee  and 
was  hanging  limp  and  bleeding. 

The  men  went  on  without  paying  any  attention 
to  him. 

He  called  out  in  a  trembling  voice :  "Mousse !  .  .  . 
Where  are  you?" 

A  voice  replied: 


264  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"There  he  is,  lying  over  there,  with  his  head  split 
open." 

Gaspard  began  to  shake  all  over. 

"What  do  you  mean?     Is  he  dead?" 

"Good  chance  he  is." 

Gaspard  had  no  heart  to  ask  any  further  ques- 
tions. He  was  losing  blood  rapidly  and  he  watched 
it  drip  to  the  ground  in  a  dark,  sinister  pool.  Mean- 
while French  and  Germans  went  on  murdering  each 
other;  savage  cries  could  be  heard.  A  new  shell 
came  whistling  along,  fell  to  the  ground  and  ex- 
ploded; the  field  opened  up  and  an  enormous  wave 
of  earth  fell  softly  over  the  body  of  poor,  unfortu- 
nate Mousse.  He  disappeared  completely.  The 
German  guns  had  killed  him,  now  they  completed 
their  task  by  burying  him.  The  shell  had  given  him 
a  terrible  wound  and  now  it  was  digging  his  grave, 
placing  him  in  it  and  covering  his  body  with  a  thick 
layer  of  his  own  native  soil.  He  was  going  back  to 
earth  without  the  assistance  of  human  hands.  War 
had  taken  him  and  war  was  keeping  him.  His  rest 
began  immediately  after  his  death.  There  were  no 
fears,  no  complaints,  no  words.  The  soldier  Mousse 
had  disappeared. 

Gaspard  gave  vent  to  a  new  outburst  of  anger: 

"Oh,  the  Kaiser!  ...  if  I  could  only  hold  the 
swine  .  .  ." 

Two  stretcher  bearers  came  along  and  picked  him 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  265 

up  quickly.  They  consoled  him  as  best  they  could 
and  he  let  them  take  him  away,  still  swearing  at 
"that  swine  of  a  Wilhelm." 

They  pushed  him  along  on  a  stretcher  on  wkeels 
in  the  midst  of  the  falling  shells  and  reached  a  road 
where  other  Red  Cross  men  took  charge  of  him. 
They  brought  him  to  the  ambulance,  which  was 
surrounded  by  houses  in  ruins  and  situated  in  the 
centre  of  a  farm  devastated  by  shells.  When  they 
carried  Gaspard  in  he  was  suffering  terribly  and  was 
trying  to  sit  up  on  the  stretcher. 

Two  surgeons  came  up  to  him  and  both  said  at 
once: 

"Well,  no  doubt  about  you,  poor  boy  ...  It  will 
have  to  come  off." 

"Come  off  .  .  ."  Gaspard  repeated  without  quite 
understanding. 

"Yes,  it  will  have  to  be  amputated  here,"  said  one 
of  the  surgeons. 

"No."  said  the  other,  pointing  at  another  spot 
on  poor  Gaspard's  leg,  "I  think  it  will  have  to  be 
done  there." 

"Why  there?"  said  the  first  surgeon. 

"Well,  please  j'ourself,  follow  your  own  opinion," 
said  the  second. 

"No,  no  ...  It's  all  the  same  to  me.  We  will 
do  as  you  say,"  concluded  the  first  surgeon. 

Gaspard  was  staring  at  them  with  wide-open  eyes 


266  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

and  a  look  of  terrific  anger.  After  a  few  seconds 
he  dropped  his  head  back  on  the  stretcher  and  mur- 
mured only: 

"  'Cre  bon  Dieu!" 

His  winter  campaign  had  lasted  exactly  twenty- 
two  hours. 


VIII 

THE  winter  had  been  cruel  to  Gaspard.     The 
spring  was  much  better. 

He  watched  its  advent  in  the  large  park 
belonging  to  the  estate  of  the  Marquis  de  Clerpa- 
quec,  whose  chateau,  situated  on  the  hillside  at 

M ,  dominates   all  the   surrounding  country  in 

Normandy.  The  park  was  all  green  and  white  and 
pink  in  the  first  days  of  May,  when  apple  and  pear 

trees  are  in  blossom.     M itself  is  a  charming 

and  interesting  little  town  perched  at  the  top  of 
the  elevation  which  dominates  the  district.  There 
has  been  no  fighting  for  centuries  in  this  beautiful 
country,  and  Gaspard,  whose  leg  had  been  ampu- 
tated, soon  discovered  that,  according  to  his  opinion 
at  least,  life  in  Normandy  with  only  one  leg  is  far 
more  enjoyable  than  in  the  Argonne  with  two. 

He  was  completing  his  convalescence  at  the  home 
of  the  Marquis  de  Clerpaquec,  an  elderly  gentleman 
of  great  wealth,  who  had  offered  his  billiard  room 
and  large  drawing-room  and  a  veranda  to  the  Red 
Cross.  He  had  told  the  officials: 

867 


268  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"Send  me  those  who  have  recovered  so  they  can 
recover  more  completely  in  my  home." 

He  was  a  charming  old  gentleman  of  refined  ap- 
pearance, who  took  great  pleasure  in  entertaining 
lavishly  a  few  men  of  the  people  who  had  fought 
for  their  country,  and  the  soldiers'  good  humor 
amused  him  immensely. 

Often,  however,  he  amused  the  soldiers  more  than 
they  amused  him.  When  the  Marquis  had  returned 
to  his  apartments  they  would  exclaim: 

"What  a  fine  old  sport!" 

Gaspard  was  enjoying  himself  immensely. 

At  meal  time  and  during  the  night  he  remained 
in  the  chateau  taking  care  of  his  health. 

At  other  times  he  seized  his  crutches  and  quickly 
crossed  the  town  to  reach  the  Cafe  des  Hirondelles. 
There  he  would  settle  down,  drink  and  talk,  offer 
advice  to  everybody  and  occupy  at  all  times  the 
place  of  honor.  This  Parisian  had  practically  con- 
quered the  province. 

In  the  beginning  they  pitied  him  on  account  of 
his  amputated  leg,  but  he  seemed  to  be  so  happy 
and  so  oblivious  of  the  horrors  of  war  that  they  soon 
forgot  to  feel  sorry  for  him  and  every  one  enjoyed 
his  merry  remarks.  His  missing  leg  gave  him  no 
worry  whatever.  He  often  discussed  it,  saying: 

"I  would  have  been  really  worried  if  I  had  lost 
an  arm,  because  you  see  you  can't  do  anything  with- 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  269 

out  your  hands,  but  a  leg  .  .  .  what's  a  leg  good 
for?" 

As  a  matter  of  fact  there  is  nothing  surprising 
in  this  good  humor.  The  power  of  resistance  of 
man  is  wonderful.  Half  killed,  he  still  continues  to 
enjoy  what  is  left  of  him.  Cut  one  of  his  legs  off 
and  he  will  learn  to  jump  instead  of  walk.  He  is 
ever  ready  to  adapt  himself  to  new  conditions.  The 
main  thing  is  to  live. 

Gaspard  had  selected  the  Cafe  des  Hirondelles 
because  it  was  the  merriest  place  in  all  M ,  situ- 
ated at  one  of  the  corners  of  a  large  square.  Dur- 
ing the  daytime  the  square  lights  up  the  cafe  and 
at  night  the  cafe  lights  up  the  square.  During  the 
day  the  place  is  always  pleasant  and  comfortable 
and  in  the  evening  no  one  passes  it  without  feeling 
inclined  to  go  in.  Although  typically  provincial, 
this  place  has  all  the  charms  of  an  old  homestead, 
with  its  mirrored  walls,  its  painted  ceilings  with 
cupids  flying  all  around,  its  old,  dilapidated  billiard 
table  and  its  two  black  cats  who  remain  motionless 
almost  all  day  long  with  an  expression  of  supreme 
contempt  for  men,  their  drinks  and  their  talk. 

These  two  animals,  however,  had  no  effect  on 
Gaspard. 

He  would  generally  enter  the  place  humming  a 
merry  song  and  his  favorite  tune  concerned  a  cer- 
tain young  lady  who  had  broken  her  wooden  leg 
19 


270  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

while  jumping  on  one  of  the  horses  of  a  merry-go- 
round  : 

Elle  s'a  casse  sa  jambe  de  bois> 

Sa  jambe  de  bois, 

En  montant  d'ssus  les  ch'vaux  d'bois, 

Elle  s'a  casse  sa  jambe, 

Sa  jambe, 

Sa  jambe  de  bois! 

The  owner  of  the  place,  who  was  a  clever  busi- 
ness man,  always  rushed  to  the  door  to  greet  Gas- 
pard,  knowing  well  that  not  only  was  the  soldier  a 
good  customer,  but  he  generally  attracted  others  to 
the  place. 

"Ah,  here  is  M'sieur  Gaspard !  Always  happy, 
M'sieur  Gaspard.  How  do  you  feel,  M'sieur  Gas- 
pard? .  .  .  What  would  you  like  to  drink,  M'sieur 
Gaspard  ?" 

"I'll  have  a  vermouth  cassis  .  .  .  and  served  by 
Mam'selle  Annette!" 

He  made  no  secret  of  the  fact  that  he  found  Made- 
moiselle Annette  very  much  to  his  liking.  She  was  a 
typical  little  cafe  waitress,  hardly  twenty  years  old, 
fair  and  childish,  but  with  pretty  eyes  and  tempt- 
ing lips.  Gaspard's  eyes  followed  her  all  around  the 
place  as  she  went  about  her  work  and  she  never  came 
near  him  without  being  caught  either  by  the  arm  or 
the  waist.  This,  however,  was  not  altogether  to  the 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  271 

liking  of  the  cafe  owner.  The  girl  had  been  placed 
in  his  care  and  he  was  anxious  to  avoid  trouble  of 
any  description.  At  night  he  generally  locked  her 
in  her  room  and  during  the  daytime  he  objected  to 
her  being  the  object  of  too  much  attention  on  the 
part  of  the  customers. 

A  month  before,  while  still  in  the  hospital,  Gas- 
pard  had  seen  his  wife,  his  Bibiche.  He  spoke  of  her 
in  rather  unkind  terms,  saying: 

"Oh,  I  like  her  well  enough,  but  she  gets  on  my 
nerves.  ...  I  hope  she  won't  come  back  for  some 
time.  She  can't  see  me  without  crying,  and  I 
couldn't  stand  her  eternal  complaints.  ...  I  sent 
her  home.  .  .  .  She  kept  on  looking  for  my  missing 
leg,  although  I  told  her  many  times  to  look  at  the 
one  that  is  still  there.  .  .  . 

"I  couldn't  keep  her  quiet.  .  .  .  The  way  she  car- 
ried on  would  be  enough  to  get  on  any  one's  nerves : 
'My  own  darling  .  .  .  my  poor  darling  .  .  .  what 
are  you  going  to  do?  .  .  .  What's  going  to  become 
of  your  business?'  ...  I  should  worry  about  my 
business  .  .  .  aren't  there  six  hundred  thousand 
other  lines  of  business?  If  I  can  no  longer  walk, 
well,  then,  I  will  become  a  Cabinet  Minister,  because 
they  have  carriages  to  drive  them  around." 

Calling  Mademoiselle  Annette  to  his  side  he  went 
on: 

"Mam'selle  Annette,  I  am  going  to  get  a  divorce. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD 

...  I  want  to  marry  you  and  we'll  have  a  fine  time 
together."  After  which  he  resumed  his  singing. 

Mam'selle  Annette  laughed  and  looked  at  the 
others,  while  Gaspard  threw  her  kisses  which  could 
be  heard  all  over  the  place.  The  owner  didn't  care 
much  for  this,  so  he  promptly  came  over  to  change 
the  conversation. 

"I  see,  M'sieur  Gaspard,  that  your  leg  no  longer 
hurts." 

"My  leg!  Don't  bother  me  with  my  leg.  It  has 
bothered  me  enough  as  it  is.  I  was  glad  to  get  rid 
of  it." 

"Was  it  in  bad  shape?" 

"Why,  so  bad  that  it  made  me  sick.  When  the 
surgeon  asked  me  if  I  was  willing  to  have  it  removed 
I  told  him  that  if  I  had  had  my  knife  I  would  have 
done  it  long  ago  myself  without  his  assistance.  .  .  . 
Why,  I  was  beginning  to  be  afraid  that  they  would 
never  take  it  off." 

The  thought  made  him  angry,  but  he  went  on : 

"The  worst  of  it  all  was  that  the  surgeon  came 
up  one  day  to  my  bed  and  said  in  a  smooth  voice: 
'Tell  me,  my  brave  young  man,  would  you  mind  if 
instead  of  burning  your  leg  I  kept  it  myself?'  At 
first  I  thought  he  was  drunk,  but  he  explained  to 
me  that  my  case  was  a  very  rare  one  and  that  he 
wanted  to  preserve  the  leg  in  alcohol.  Personally  I 
thought  that  it  was  a  shame  to  waste  good  alcohol 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  273 

for  such  a  purpose,  but  he  was  so  serious  about  it 
that  I  told  him  he  could  go  right  ahead  and  that 
I  hoped  he  would  put  the  leg  on  the  buffet  in  his 
dining  room." 

He  burst  out  laughing,  and,  pulling  the  girl  to 
his  side,  he  kissed  her  suddenly  and  began  again  his 
song  of  the  woman  with  the  wooden  leg. 

The  owner  of  the  cafe  watched  him  and  exclaimed : 

"M'sieur  Gaspard  is  a  wonder!"     And  meanwhile 

the  soldier  was  hopping  around  on  one  leg  through 

the   cafe,   chasing   the  girl   right  into  the  kitchen, 

where  he  demanded  another  kiss. 

The  black  cats,  frightened,  disappeared  at  full 
speed. 

He  came  back  to  his  table  and  ordered: 
"Give  me  another  vermouth  cassis!" 
The  local  tradesmen  never  failed  to  gather  around 
him  to  listen  to  his  stories  while  drinking  their  cof- 
fee.     He   took  particular   pleasure   in  telling  them 
about  the  days  spent  in  the  hospital. 

"Ah,  my  friends  .  .  .  that  was  the  life!  ...  I 
got  as  many  presents  as  there  are  hours  on  the 
clock  dial :  tobacco,  chocolate  and  many  other  things. 
I  was  having  a  fine  time  there  in  my  bed  just  wait- 
ing for  them  to  come  along  with  their  presents.  I 
pretended  to  be  asleep  and  then  I  suddenly  opened 
my  eyes  and  sighed  .  .  .  and  let  me  tell  you,  with 
the  ladies,  none  of  them  can  resist  the  sigh.  They 


274  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

all  came  around  and  said,  'My  poor  friend,  what 
would  you  like  to  have?'  I  just  had  to  speak,  and 
along  it  would  come,  right  away. 

"And  when  it  comes  to  visitors,  believe  me  there 
was  some  class  to  those  who  came  to  see  me !  Ladies 
with  gloves  on,  generals  with  orders  and  decora- 
tions all  over  their  uniforms ;  and  then  the  Bishop, 
the  Prefect  and  the  newspaper  men.  .  .  .  The  news- 
paper men  were  the  funniest  of  all. 

"They  came  up  one  by  one  and  looked  their  pret- 
tiest as  they  asked,  'How  are  you  to-day,  Monsieur? 
Are  you  suffering,  Monsieur?  Tell  us  all  about  it, 
Monsieur.'  And  as  soon  as  I  began  to  talk  their 
pencils  began  to  fly  on  their  notebooks.  ...  I 
always  imagined  that  in  order  to  become  famous  it 
was  necessary  to  do  something  more  than  the  others, 
but  it  seems  it's  the  other  way  round;  all  you  have 
to  do  is  less  than  any  one  else." 

He  tasted  his  drink  and  protested  to  the  cafe 
owner  that  it  was  too  weak  and  tasted  like  water. 
The  owner  made  an  ugly  face  at  this  complaint, 
but  felt  that  he  could  ill  afford  to  lose  Gaspard  as 
a  customer  and  he  quickly  added  some  more  ver- 
mouth to  the  soldier's  drink. 

Gaspard,  having  satisfied  himself  that  the  mis- 
take had  been  corrected,  went  on: 

"After  the  hospital  they  sent  me  to  the  chateau 
for  my  convalescence.  .  .  .  Ah,  believe  me,  that  was 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  275 

some  life.  ...  I  began  to  think  I  was  a  millionaire 
...  a  bed  big  enough  for  three,  perfumed  soap 
which  made  me  feel  like  an  actress,  and  meals.  .  .  . 
Ah,  my  boys,  some  meals! 

"And  when  it  comes  to  the  Marquis,  he's  old,  but, 
take  it  from  me,  he's  a  good  scout.  Every  morning 
he  comes  to  see  us  in  our  beds.  He  visits  me  every 
day,  and  when  I  show  him  my  leg  and  tell  him  that 
the  other  one  has  refused  to  grow  over  night  he 
never  stops  laughing.  He's  a  real  fine  one,  he  is." 

Gaspard's  ever  happy  disposition  and  his  joyous 

tales  made  him  famous  in  M .  And  new 

patrons  were  coming  daily  to  the  Cafe  des  Hiron- 
delles.  All  the  local  tradespeople,  the  notary,  the 
jeweller  and  the  grain  merchant  became  daily  cus- 
tomers, and  the  owner  of  the  cafe  was  so  pleased 
that  he  began  to  look  with  a  kinder  eye  at  Gaspard's 
friendliness  toward  the  waitress. 

On  the  following  Sunday,  however,  Gaspard  went 
out  and  had  his  picture  taken  with  the  girl,  and 
the  photographer  placed  a  proof  of  the  picture  in 
his  front  window.  This  time  the  cafe  owner  was 
seriously  alarmed.  If  Annette's  mother,  who  came  to 
town  every  week  to  sell  eggs,  should  discover  the  pic- 
ture of  her  daughter  posing  with  a  soldier  the  repu- 
tation of  his  place  might  be  seriously  endangered. 

He  thought  it  over  for  a  while  and  then  discov- 
ered that  the  best  way  to  get  back  at  Gaspard  was 


216  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

to  send  one  of  the  photographs  to  the  latter's  wife 
with  the  following  inscription:  "Picture  of  a  faith- 
ful soldier." 

What  might  have  been  expected  followed  in  quick 
order.  Bibiche  went  to  the  Mairie  and  obtained  a 
railroad  ticket  permitting  her  to  go  and  visit  her 

wounded  husband  and  she  arrived  in  M without 

warning. 

Her  sorrow  was  greater  than  her  anger  and  she 
could  hardly  refrain  from  crying.  She  felt  that  her 
life  was  ended,  for  in  her  simple  way  she  thought 
he  had  already  married  the  other  one;  she  had  de- 
cided to  come  to  see  for  herself,  just  to  make  sure 
of  her  suspicions,  so  as  to  be  able  to  impart  them 
to  her  husband's  mother,  who  was  taking  care  of 
the  boy  in  Paris. 

Bibiche  presented  herself  first  at  the  home  of  the 
Marquis  and  from  there  she  was  sent  to  the  little 
cafe. 

She  walked  in  quietly.  Her  husband  was  there, 
speaking  to  a  group  of  men.  His  back  was  turned 
toward  her  as  she  entered  the  place. 

A  funny  little  man,  wearing  smoked  glasses,  was 
seated  beside  Gaspard,  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  He 
said: 

"You  know  .  .  .  you  must  be  careful  .  .  .  the 
Germans  are  misunderstood  .  .  .  they  are  very  in- 
telligent." 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  277 

A  deep  silence  followed  these  remarks.  No  one 
had  noticed  Bibiche.  The  jeweller  and  the  grain 
merchant  were  stupefied.  The  jeweller's  son  had 
been  killed  in  Belgium,  and  he  was  amazed  to  hear 
any  one  praise  the  Boches.  He  was  unable,  however, 
to  find  anything  to  say. 

Gaspard  jumped  up,  but  the  other  man  continued 
with  an  indifferent  air: 

"It's  not  because  they  are  our  enemies  ...  we 
must  not  close  our  eyes  to  their  merits  .  .  .  We 
couldn't  come  anywhere  near  them  .  .  .  why,  the 
goods  they  were  selling  were  of  the  very  best  qual- 
ity .  .  ." 

Gaspard  leaned  over  toward  him  and  said,  look- 
ing him  straight  in  the  eye: 

"And  who  are  you  to  talk  like  that?" 

The  other  stood  up. 

"Are  you  talking  to  me?" 

"That's  what  it  looks  like." 

"Well,  then,  just  try  to  be  polite.  I'm  the  Jus- 
tice of  the  Peace." 

"Justice  of  the  Peace  be  hanged!  What  I  want 
to  know  is  why  are  you  not  in  the  army  at  your 
age?  Why  are  you  loafing  around  here  while  the 
others  are  being  killed?" 

"I  don't  know  that  it's  any  of  your  business.  I 
have  been  exempted." 

"Exempted?      Exempted!      And   that's    the   way 


278  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

you're  talking !  Well,  my  friend,  you  had  better  be 
careful  not  to  talk  like  that  while  I  am  around. 
You  know  I  come  from  the  Halles  and  I  know  what 
a  pig  looks  like  when  I  see  him." 

"You  had  better  stop  staring  at  me  like 
that.  .  .  ." 

"I'll  stare  at  you  if  I  feel  like  it.  ...  And  what- 
ever kind  of  a  Justice  you  might  be,  I  warn  you 
not  to  be  praising  the  Boches  without  knowing  what 
you  are  talking  about.  .  .  .  Don't  forget  that  I 
know  them.  I've  had  my  share.  ...  If  the  others 
want  to  listen  to  you  let  them  go  ahead,  but  don't 
try  to  tell  it  to  me  or  I'll  grab  you  by  the  skin  of 
your  neck  and  .  .  ." 

"Calm  yourself,  my  friend,"  said  both  the  jeweller 
and  the  grain  merchant. 

"What  are  you  doing,  Gaspard?"  exclaimed 
Bibiche. 

He  turned  his  head  quickly  around,  stupefied  at 
hearing  so  familiar  a  voice,  and  stammered : 

"Well,  I'll  be  hanged!  .  .  .  What  is  this,  a 
dream  ?" 

Bibiche  had  turned  scarlet. 

"Yes  .  .  .  it's  me  ...  here  I  am  .  .  .  I've  been 
worrying  so  much  about  you!" 

The  Justice  of  the  Peace  took  advantage  of  this 
incident  to  go  to  the  door,  saying  to  the  cafe  owner : 

"Well,   it   seems    this   place   is   getting   exclusive. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  279 

....  I  suppose  we  won't  be  allowed  to  talk  before 
Europe  has  finally  settled  all  her  troubles." 

"What  did  he  say?"  shouted  Gaspard.  "Why 
.  .  .  I'll  eat  him  up !" 

He  started  after  the  Justice,  but  the  others  held 
him  back  and  calmed  him  by  offering  him  a  drink. 

The  owner  of  the  place  was  disgusted.  As  soon 
as  he  saw  Gaspard's  wife  he  ordered  Annette  out  and 
locked  her  up  in  another  room.  When  he  saw  Gas- 
pard growing  really  angry  he  feared  for  his  furni- 
ture and  also  for  his  other  customers.  He  went 
about  trying  to  restore  order  and  muttering: 

"This  war  will  never  do  any  of  us  any  good! 
Everybody  thinks  of  fighting !" 

Turning  to  one  of  the  other  customers,  he  im- 
plored him  to  pacify  Gaspard,  whom  he  said  he 
would  be  glad  to  see  leave  the  place  for  good. 

"Get  rid  of  him,"  he  added,  "and  I'll  give  you 
your  coffee  for  nothing  for  a  whole  month." 

The  notary,  to  whom  this  offer  was  made,  realized 
at  once  that  it  was  a  rare  inducement. 

"Only  I  don't  want  ever  to  see  him  again,"  said 
the  owner. 

"I'll  think  it  over." 

They  went  no  further  in  their  negotiations  be- 
cause Gaspard  was  again  getting  his  temper  up. 

"And  here  I  am  with  a  wife  on  my  arms!  She's 
got  a  home  and  child  and  she  deserts  it  all  to  jump 


280  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

on  a  train  .  .  .  and  what  for,  I'd  like  to  know?  I 
suppose  just  to  come  and  cry  on  my  shoulder!" 

"I  don't  want  to  cry,"  sobbed  Bibiche. 

"Yes,  I  know ;  you're  going  to  start  all  over  again 
telling  me  that  I  am  good  for  nothing,  that  I  can't 
earn  a  living,  without  realizing  the  great  economy 
resulting  from  the  fact  that  the  chiropodist  will 
only  charge  me  half  price  hereafter." 

Suddenly  he  thought  of  the  waitress  and  added 
in  an  ugly  tone  of  voice : 

"I  suppose  you  came  sneaking  around  here  just 
to  find  out  what  was  going  on  ...  I  guess  some 
one  has  been  telling  you  things  .  .  .  Well,  if  that's 
the  way  ...  if  that's  the  way,  the  best  thing  for 
you  to  do  is  to  pay  for  my  vermouth  and  then  beat 
it !  I'm  going  back  to  my  chateau !" 

He  left  the  place  and  hurried  across  the  square 
on  his  crutches. 

Bibiche,  her  eyes  full  of  tears,  was  compelled  to 
ask  the  janitor  at  the  chateau  for  a  bed  for  the 
night  and  the  janitor  permitted  her  to  sleep  in  the 
bed  of  his  son,  who  had  gone  to  the  front. 

Gaspard  learned  of  this  and  was  careful  to  go  out 
by  the  back  door  the  next  day.  He  went  straight  to 
the  Cafe  des  Hirondelles,  but  the  waitress  had  dis- 
appeared. The  cafe  owner  informed  him  with  a 
smile  that  Annette  was  now  working  for  her  brother- 
in-law  at  A . 


PRIVATE    GASPARD 


"At  A  -  !"  exclaimed  Gaspard.  "At  A-  -  ? 
Well,  that's  where  I'm  going!" 

The  cafe  owner  called  his  wife  and  said  : 

"Run  as  fast  as  you  can  and  tell  Madame  Gaspard 
.  .  .  the  next  train  leaves  in  a  half  hour  .  .  .  tell 
her  to  hurry  up  and  she  will  catch  it." 

Bibiche  received  the  news  with  a  new  outburst  of 
tears,  but  the  janitor  encouraged  her  to  fight  for  her 
rights,  and  off  she  went  as  fast  as  she  could  to  the 
railroad  station. 

When  she  got  there  she  was  completely  out  of 
breath.  Gaspard  was  on  the  platform  talking  to  the 
locomotive  driver,  who  was  saying: 

"How  many  of  them  did  you  kill?" 

To  which  Gaspard  replied:  "I  don't  know  ...  I 
didn't  have  time  to  count  them  .  .  .  but,  believe  me, 
I  got  quite  a  few." 

Bibiche  walked  up  to  him  and  pulled  his  coat. 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"You?     Again!" 

She  burst  into  tears  and  explained: 

"You're  going  to  see  her  .  .  .  well,  you're  not! 
I'm  your  wife,  and  I'm  not  going  to  let  you.  Liar  ! 
.  .  .  Let  me  tell  you,  sir  ...  " 

She  began  to  tell  her  sad  story  to  the  locomotive 
driver  and  to  another  railway  employee  standing 
nearby. 

Meanwhile  Gaspard  looked  at  her  without  saying 


282  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

a  word.  This  outburst  of  rage  coming  from  a  wom- 
an who  was  usually  so  quiet  had  stupefied  him.  Sud- 
denly he  had  an  inspiration.  Turning  toward  his 
wife  without  the  slightest  excitement  in  his  voice,  he 
said: 

"Well,  what  are  you  worrying  about?  What's 
all  the  trouble?  Why  don't  you  tell  me  what  you 
want  ?  I  didn't  come  here  to  take  a  train ;  I  came 
to  see  a  friend." 

"Oh,"  said  Bibiche,  "don't  try  that  on  me.  I  know 
better." 

He  laughed  and  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
whistling  a  merry  tune  went  out  of  the  station  in  the 
most  natural  way  possible. 

Bibiche  followed  and  despite  the  crowd  which  was 
rapidly  gathering  shouted: 

"You've  only  got  one  leg,  and  still  you're  trying 
to  do  this  to  me !  Running  after  a  girl !  Aren't  you 
ashamed  of  yourself?" 

They  went  through  the  street  at  a  rapid  gait;  he 
was  hopping  along  as  fast  as  his  crutches  could  carry 
him.  She  followed,  out  of  breath,  still  screaming  at 
the  top  of  her  voice: 

"Liar !  .  .  .  Running  after  women  when  he  is  mar- 
ried and  the  father  of  a  child,  too !" 

He  pretended  not  to  hear  her  and  kept  on,  greet- 
ing with  a  cheerful  smile  those  he  knew  along  the 
street. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  283 

When  they  arrived  at  the  chateau  Bibiche  was 
completely  out  of  breath  and  was  glad  to  rest  on  a 
chair  in  the  home  of  the  janitor,  whose  wife  said: 

"Well,  you've  got  him!  .  .  .  Now  hold  on  to 
him." 

For  several  hours  they  talked  about  the  perfidy 
of  men,  of  the  horrors  of  war  and  the  necessity  for 
women  to  fight  for  their  rights  at  any  price. 

At  eight  o'clock  one  of  the  convalescent  soldiers 
visited  the  janitor  and,  unaware  of  the  fact  that 
Bibiche  was  Gaspard's  wife,  told  her  that  the  one- 
legged  soldier  had  stolen  the  key  of  the  back  door 
and  had  just  left  for  the  railroad  station,  announc- 
ing that  he  was  going  to  A ,  where  a  pretty  girl 

was  waiting  for  him.  He  had  even  gone  so  far  as 
to  advise  one  of  them  to  go  and  tell  the  janitor's 
wife  about  it. 

The  latter's  anger  was  hot. 

"Well,  if  he  isn't  the  limit!" 

Bibiche  was  sobbing,  but  she  had  no  more  strength 
to  carry  on  the  fight.  Twice  on  the  same  day  was 
too  much  for  her. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,"  said  the  janitor's  wife.  "Go 
after  him." 

"It's  awful  .  .  .  it's  terrible,"  said  Bibiche  in  a 
tearful  voice. 

She  started  off  for  the  railroad  station. 

It  was  a  beautiful   starlight   night  and  Gaspard 


284*  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

was  evidently  enjoying  it,  for  he  was  walking  along 
the  road  at  a  slow  pace  and  his  wife  had  no  trouble 
in  catching  up  with  him.  He  made  no  attempt  to 
run  away  from  her.  This  completely  confused  Bi- 
biche  and  she  was  actually  afraid  of  talking  to  him. 
She  followed  him  at  a  short  distance,  saying  to  her- 
self: 

"This  time  I  am  going  to  make  sure  of  it.  ... 
I'm  going  to  let  him  get  into  the  train  .  .  .  otherwise 
he  would  tell  me  another  lie." 

She  was  walking  close  to  the  wall  along  the  street 
as  though  she  were  the  one  who  was  trying  to  get 
away. 

He  went  into  the  railroad  station,  bought  a  ticket 
and  took  a  seat  in  a  third-class  compartment.  Once 
there  he  laughed  out  loud,  because  he  had  been  aware 
of  his  wife's  presence  all  the  time  and  had  arranged 
a  scheme  to  fool  her. 

He  knew  that  she  would  follow  him,  would  take  a 

ticket  for  A and  get  into  the  same  train.  She 

came  along  just  as  he  had  expected,  and  when  the 
train  began  to  move  he  jumped  out  on  the  other 
side  of  the  track,  having  thrown  his  crutches  out 
ahead  of  him.  After  the  train  had  disappeared  he 
returned  quietly  to  the  chateau  and  went  to  bed. 
The  following  day  at  an  early  hour  he  went  to  see 
the  janitor's  wife  and  asked  her  in  the  most  natural 
way  possible  where  his  wife  was. 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  285 

The  woman  was  so  amazed  to  see  him  that  she 
could  find  nothing  to  reply. 

He  gave  her  a  severe  look. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  she  slept  out  last 
night?  .  .  .  Well,  that's  a  fine  condition  of  affairs. 
.  .  .  We'll  soon  see.  ..." 

He  went  out  without  any  further  comment  and 
returned  to  the  railroad  station,  where  he  awaited  the 

first  train  from  A while  walking  up  and  down 

the  platform  smoking  his  pipe. 

Just  as  he  had  expected,  Bibiche  stepped  from  one 
of  the  compartments  when  the  train  stopped.  He 
went  up  to  her  resolutely. 

"So  here  you  are!  Here  you  are  at  last!  Will 
you  please  tell  me  where  you  come  from?  What 
have  you  been  up  to?  Shame  on  you,  unfaithful 
woman !" 

The  other  travelers  gathered  around. 

"This  is  fine  business !  To  go  and  marry  a  wom- 
an who  is  a  mother,  to  buy  her  a  home  and  then  to 
be  treated  like  this !" 

He  was  holding  Bibiche  by  the  arm  and  pushing 
her  in  front  of  him,  raising  his  voice  meanwhile,  so 
every  one  could  hear  it. 

"Very  fine  indeed!  To  go  out  and  get  yourself 
torn  to  pieces  by  the  Boches  and  then  come  home  to 
find  this  sort  of  thing  going  on !" 

He  seemed  to  have  convinced  himself  of  the  jus- 
20 


286  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

tice  of  his  argument,  for  his  anger  was  growing  every 
minute. 

Townspeople  came  to  their  windows  and  doors 
and  watched  the  couple  go  by,  just  as  they  had  done 
on  the  previous  day  when  it  was  Bibiche  who  was 
doing  the  fighting.  This  time,  however,  the  women 
sympathized  with  Gaspard  and  were  highly  indig- 
nant at  his  wife's  conduct,  and  poor  Bibiche  was 
sobbing  without  finding  anything  to  say. 

Gaspard  went  on: 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  at  your 
age!  ...  I  surely  thought  you  had  passed  the  age 
when  a  woman  can  be  induced  to  be  unfaithful  to 
her  husband!" 

The  women  along  the  street  warmly  approved 
Gaspard's  words. 

Bibiche,  overcome  with  shame  and  anger,  returned 
to  the  janitor's  home  and  spent  the  entire  day  cry- 
ing. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  afternoon  the  same  con- 
valescent soldier  who  had  recently  undertaken  to 
bring  information  to  Bibiche  concerning  her  husband 
returned  with  so  strange  a  story  that  Bibiche  forgot 
all  about  her  sorrow. 

"What  do  you  think  has  happened?  An  Ameri- 
can has  been  to  visit  Gaspard!" 

"An  American?"  repeated  the  janitor's  wife. 

"Yes,  clean  shaven  and  with  tan  shoes." 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  287 

"But  he  came  to  see  the  Marquis." 

"He  did  not!  He  came  for  Gaspard.  He  said 
the  Marquis  had  told  him  that  Gaspard  was  a  wide- 
awake, lively  fellow  and  in  view  of  his  infirmity  the 
American  had  come  to  offer  Gaspard  a  position  in 
his  firm,  which  deals  in  artificial  limbs.  .  .  .  Why, 
even  Gaspard,  whom  it  is  hard  to  surprise,  was 
stupefied,  because  .  .  .  I'll  bet  you'll  never  guess 
how  much  he  offered  to  pay  him !" 

"How  much?"  said  Bibiche,  anxiously. 

"Three  hundred  francs  a  month." 

"Oh!"  was  all  Bibiche  could  find  to  say. 

"Do  you  mean  it?"  said  the  janitor's  wife. 

"I  mean  just  what  I  say,  and  he'll  tell  you  so 
himself.  Good  old  Gaspard!  Now,  he  says  war  is 
the  finest  thing  in  the  world;  and  you  can't  blame 
him,  seeing  that  it  has  given  him  such  a  fine  job! 
Some  easy  life  he's  going  to  live !" 

The  last  few  words  affected  Bibiche  more  than 
anything  else.  She  forgot  all  about  her  anger  and 
her  sole  thought  was  to  ask  him  to  forgive  her  and 
to  forget.  She  was  almost  overcome  by  the  thought 
that  she  was  the  wife  of  a  man  who  was  going  to 
earn  three  hundred  francs  a  month. 

She  waited  quietly  for  Gaspard  and  he  soon  came 
along  with  a  highly  dignified  air.  In  speaking, 
however,  he  seemed  to  ignore  his  wife  and  to  address 
all  his  words  to  the  janitor's  wife. 


288  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"Well,  I  see  they  told  you.  .  .  .  What  do  you 
think  of  it?  And  believe  me,  there  will  be  no  worry 
over  the  price  of  a  drink  hereafter,  even  if  they  have 
stopped  the  sale  of  absinthe." 

Bibiche,  who  had  grown  red  in  the  face,  mur- 
mured : 

"Oh!  you've  always  known  how  to  get  along.  .  .  . 
Three  hundred  francs !" 

"Yes,  and  two  per  cent  on  every  leg  or  arm  sold," 
added  Gaspard  with  an  air  of  supreme  importance. 
"Some  man  he  was !  I  could  have  kissed  him.  .  .  . 
He  showed  me  one  of  the  legs,  which  he  carried 
with  him  in  a  bag,  and,  take  it  from  me,  it's  a 
wonder!  You  can  move  it  in  every  direction.  A 
man  would  have  to  have  a  pretty  mean  disposition 
to  complain  with  a  leg  like  that." 

Bibiche  never  took  her  eyes  off  him,  but  he  was 
still  carefully  avoiding  her. 

"So  you  see,  no  more  of  this  sick  bed  business. 
The  man  arranged  all  that  with  the  Marquis,  and 
to-morrow  we're  going  back  to  Paris,  and  the  day 
after  to-morrow  the  high  life  begins  !" 

This  time  he  looked  straight  at  her  and  her  eyes 
rapidly  filled  with  tears  as  she  realized  that  he  meant 
her  when  he  said  "We  are  going  back."  She  under- 
stood that  all  the  harm  done  by  the  war  had  disap- 
peared and  that  they  were  going  back  to  the  Rue  de 
la  Gaite  to  live  in  comfort  ever  after.  The  poor 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  289 

woman  was  so  overcome  with  joy  that  all  that  she 
could  find  to  say  was: 

"Your  mother  must  be  right.  .  .  .  There  must  be 
a  God." 

When  they  got  back  to  the  Rue  de  la  Gaite  there 
was  a  letter  with  a  black  border  awaiting  Gaspard. 

"Probably  another  millionaire  who  wants  to  do 
business  with  me,"  he  said. 

The  letter  was  from  Madame  Burette.  What  a 
surprise!  The  widow  of  his  first  friend  to  whom 
he  had  never  had  the  courage  to  write  to  tell  her. 
.  .  .  Well,  he  never  knew  just  what  to  tell  her. 
Burette  had  so  often  spoken  of  his  wife  in  the  most 
affectionate  terms.  With  the  picture  of  the  battle 
and  of  his  friend's  horrible  death  ever  present  in  his 
mind  he  had  been  unable  to  describe  it  to  the  widow. 
Now  she  had  written  for  this  same  information.  She 
wrote  that  the  sergeant  had  told  her  that  Gaspard 
was  the  only  one  who  took  care  of  her  dear  husband 
and  she  was  therefore  very  anxious  to  see  him. 

Gaspard  was  deeply  moved  by  this  letter.  He 
read  it  over  ten  times,  admiring  the  handwriting,  and 
then  passed  it  on  to  Bibiche  and  his  mother,  saying: 

"Poor  little  woman  !  .  .  .  She  must  be  very  pretty, 
judging  from  what  Burette  said.  ...  No  doubt 
about  it,  I'll  have  to  go  and  see  her.  .  .  .  But  how- 
will  I  ever  tell  her?" 

Once  again  he  could  see  himself  in  the  midst  of  the 


290  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

terrific  gun  fire  carrying  his  suffering  friend  on  his 
back ;  he  saw  Burette  dying,  he  saw  him  dead. 

"Well,  no  matter,"  he  concluded.  "I'll  have  to 
go." 

He  also  remembered  that  he  was  to  see  a  Monsieur 
Farinet,  professor  at  the  University  of  Paris,  for 
whom  he  had  a  letter  from  Mousse,  which  he  had 
been  carrying  around  for  three  months. 

He  who  had  escaped  with  his  life  had  a  supreme 
duty  to  fulfill  toward  his  two  battle  comrades,  of 
whom  he  could  never  think  without  a  feeling  of 
intense  hatred  against  the  Germans. 

He  devoted  his  last  day  of  freedom  to  fulfilling 
this  duty. 

On  a  beautiful  afternoon  in  June  he  said  to  his 
mother,  to  Bibiche  and  to  the  boy: 

"Don't  stay  locked  up  in  here  on  a  day  like  this. 
Come  along  with  me  and  you  can  wait  for  me  out- 
side." 

The  two  women  cheerfully  consented.  They  were 
proud  of  walking  through  the  streets  with  their 
mutilated  hero,  who  was  carrying  out  his  promise  by 
going  to  tell  their  relatives  how  his  pals  met  their 
death. 

Their  first  destination  was  the  Rue  Nicole,  a  little 
street  near  the  Observatory,  where  M.  Farinet  lived. 
They  took  a  tramway  and  an  old  lady  insisted  on 
paying  for  Gaspard,  saying: 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  291 

"It  will  bring  luck  to  my  son,  who  is  out  there 
in  the  trenches." 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  worry  if  I  were  you,"  said  Gas- 
pard. 

"Yes,  but  when  will  it  all  be  over,"  sighed  the  old 
lady.  "I  often  wonder  if  God  is  still  watching  us 
from  above." 

"God?"  said  Gaspard.  "Why,  I  think  he  died 
long  ago." 

"Dead!"  exclaimed  the  old  lady,  "why,  he  is 
eternal." 

"In  that  case  he  ought  to  send  us  another  Jesus. 
Because,  goodness  knows,  we  need  it,"  said  Gas- 
pard. 

When  he  rang  the  bell  at  M.  Farinet's  door  he 
was  deeply  moved.  He  looked  at  the  inscription  on 
the  letter  he  carried:  "Professor  of  the  Faculty  of 
Letters,"  and  wondered  what  kind  of  man  he  was 
about  to  meet.  The  door  was  opened  and  he  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  a  little  man,  extremely  ugly, 
with  a  long  beard,  whose  necktie  was  just  as  much 
out  of  place  as  his  glasses. 

Gaspard  gave  him  the  letter  and  explained  how  he 
came  to  get  it.  The  little  man  read  it,  while  still 
standing  in  the  doorway,  and  then  said: 

"Thanks  ...  so  he  is  dead?" 

"Yes,  he  is  dead,"  replied  Gaspard  in  a  sorrowful 
voice. 


292  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

"But,  didn't  he  tell  you  anything  about  intran- 
sitive verbs?" 

"Intran— what?" 

"Well,  don't  bother  ...  I  will  see  the  pub- 
lisher." 

The  old  professor  remained  on  the  threshold,  as 
if  he  were  afraid  to  permit  the  soldier  to  enter  his 
home.  After  a  few  moments'  silence  he  said  in  the 
same  sharp  voice: 

"I  see  they  cut  your  leg  off." 

Without  awaiting  a  reply  he  changed  the  con- 
versation abruptly  to  a  theme  which  was  evidently 
far  more  intersting  to  him.  He  said: 

"Did  you  have  any  lice  out  there?" 

"Well,  some  of  the  men  had." 

"You  see,  my  brother,  who  is  a  member  of  the 
Academy  of  Sciences,  has  prepared  a  report  on  Ger- 
man lice,  which  he  says  are  of  a  darker  hue  than  the 
others." 

"Darker  hue!  Rot!"  said  Gaspard.  "Lice  are 
lice,  regardless  of  their  nationality." 

"I  beg  your  pardon  .  .  .  there  are  the  vulgar  lice 
and  the  ..." 

"The  educated  ones,  I  suppose.  Sort  of  college 
graduates,  eh?  Well,  I  don't  know  them,  nor  do 
the  other  poilus." 

"I  see,  I  see,"  said  the  professor.  "Well,  thanks 
for  the  letter  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  good  by." 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  293 

He  closed  the  door  before  Gaspard  had  time  to 
reply. 

Gaspard  went  back  to  his  mother  and  wife,  who 
were  waiting  on  the  Boulevard  du  Port  Royal,  and 
said  in  utter  disgust: 

"A  fine  kind  of  a  fish !  How  did  Mousse  ever  get 
to  know  people  like  that?  What  a  fool!" 

The  thought  of  going  to  see  Mme.  Burette,  how- 
ever, made  him  feel  more  cheerful,  and  he  and  his 
family  took  another  tramway. 

Mme.  Burette  had  moved  from  the  Avenue  du 
Maine  and  had  gone  to  live  with  an  aunt  in  a  little 
street  back  of  the  Elysee. 

The  journey  was  long  and  it  was  very  hot  and 
Gaspard  took  his  family  into  a  little  bar  in  the  Fau- 
bourg Saint-Honore,  where  there  were  already  other 
soldiers  seated  at  the  tables.  He  ordered  refresh- 
ments, spoke  for  a  while  about  the  war,  and  then 
said  to  Bibiche  and  his  mother: 

"Stay  right  here.     I'll  be  back  in  fifteen  minutes." 

He  went  out  in  fine  spirits,  moving  along  quickly 
on  his  crutches. 

He  reached  Mme.  Burette's  home  at  the  end  of 
the  afternoon,  at  that  hour  of  twilight  which  makes 
pretty  women  look  prettier  still.  Their  eyes  seem 
deeper,  their  features  sweeter  and  their  charm  can- 
not fail  to  impress  every  man,  including  even  a  dealer 
in  snails. 


294  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

Mme.  Burette  was  a  tall  brunette,  and  it  is  a 
well-known  fact  that  brunettes  always  seem  in  deeper 
mourning  than  other  women  when  they  wear  black. 
Her  soft  skin  and  her  long  eyelashes  seemed  made 
for  tears,  and  her  abundant  hair  was  arranged  in 
such  a  way  as  to  give  her  a  sad  and  anguished  ap- 
pearance. 

She  came  into  the  room  and  in  a  trembling  voice 
said: 

"Monsieur  Gaspard  .  .  .  how  happy  I  am  to  see 
you  .  .  .  how  kind  of  you  to  come  here." 

"Oh,  Madame  .  .  .  it's  really  the  least  I  can 
do." 

He  found  her  both  young  and  pretty  and  the 
feeling  that  he  was  about  to  speak  to  her  of  the 
death  of  the  pal  he  loved  so  well  made  his  heart  beat 
faster. 

"I  see  that  you,  too,  have  suffered,"  she  said 
quietly. 

"Oh  ...  it  doesn't  matter  with  me  .  .   ." 

"Won't  you  please  take  a  seat?.  .  .  Take  this 
armchair  .  .  .  are  you  all  right  there?" 

Her  kindness  greatly  confused  Gaspard,  who  could 
only  murmur: 

"Thank  you,  Madame  .  .  .  thank  you  ...  I  am 
all  right.  .  .  ." 

She  sat  right  down  in  front  of  him  and  said  in  a 
trembling  voice: 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  295 

"Well  .  .  .  tell  me  ...  just  how  my  husband 
died." 

Gaspard,  greatly  embarrassed,  fingered  his  cap 
while  wondering  just  how  to  begin  his  story.  Near 
the  window  two  birds  were  fluttering  in  a  cage. 
Gaspard  looked  at  them,  worked  up  all  his  courage 
and  began : 

"Well,  Madame,  I  don't  want  to  try  to  fool  you 
or  tell  you  anything  that's  not  true,  but  your  hus- 
band, who  was  my  friend  and  my  very  best  friend. 
.  .  .  Well,  Madame,  I  tell  you  he  died  like  a  hero 
and  without  a  complaint." 

The  woman  was  too  deeply  moved  to  utter  a  word 
and  sat  quietly  for  a  few  moments,  playing  nervously 
with  her  handkerchief.  Finally  she  gathered  enough 
strength  to  inquire: 

"Tell  me,  where  did  the  bullet  hit  him?" 

It  was  a  straightforward  question  and  there  was 
no  way  out  of  it.  Suddenly  Gaspard's  good  heart 
gave  him  a  great  inspiration.  Turning  to  Madame 
Burette,  he  placed  one  finger  in  the  center  of  his  fore- 
head and  said: 

"There,  Madame,  right  there." 

The  information  seemed  to  surprise  her  greatly. 

"In  the  forehead?  Why,  his  sergeant  wrote  to 
me  that  he  was  wounded  in  the  stomach." 

"In  the  stomach!  Oh,  Madame!  What  a  shame 
to  tell  stories  like  that!  What  does  the  sergeant 


296  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

know  about  him?  Why,  Madame,  I  was  the  only 
one  to  see  him,  I  tell  you,  the  only  one." 

"Well,  he  told  me  that  too  in  his  letter,"  she  added. 
"He  wrote  'Monsieur  Gaspard  has  been  a  real 
brother  to  your  husband.' ' 

"Oh,  nothing  to  brag  about,"  said  Gaspard  .  .  . 
"Burette  was  a  real  pal  .  .  .  every  time  they  gave 
us  any  wine.  .  .  ." 

"Did  he  suffer  much?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  lied  cheerfully. 

"Suffer!  Why,  not  a  bit.  Why,  he  dropped  in 
one  second,  just  like  that  ...  a  real  hero,  I  tell  you. 
I  was  right  beside  him,  Madame,  and  all  I  heard  was 
just  one  tiny  little  cry." 

The  woman's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  listened 
to  the  soldier,  but  it  was  clear  that  the  news  he  was 
bringing  her  was  making  her  feel  very  happy. 

"Didn't  he  have  time  to  speak  to  you  about  me?" 

"Why,  I  should  say  he  did,"  replied  Gaspard 
quickly.  "But  even  before  that  he  always  used  to 
say  to  me,  'Gaspard,  if  I  am  killed  don't  fail  to 
tell  my  little  wife  how  much  I  thought  of  her.' ' 

"Did  he  really  say  that?" 

"Yes,  and  he  really  meant  it  too  .  .  .  and  then, 
after  he  had  fallen,  another  shell  came  along  and 
exploded  right  near  by." 

"My  God!  .  .  .  And  what  then?" 

"Well,  it  threw  up  a  great  big  mass  of  earth  which 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  297 

came  down  softly  upon  him  and  buried  him  then  and 
there.  ...  It  was  a  wonderful  sight.  .  .  .  No  one 
had  time  to  go  near  him  .  .  .  nothing  remained  .  .  . 
he  had  disappeared  completely  with  all  his  equip- 
ment and  everything  he  had  with  him,  including  the 
tokens  which  reminded  him  of  you." 

It  was  another  wonderful  inspiration  from  Gas- 
pard's  good  heart  that  induced  him  to  conceal  from 
the  widow  the  real  facts  about  her  husband's  horrible 
death  and  to  attribute  to  Burette  the  glorious,  im- 
pressive end  which  came  to  Gaspard's  other  pal,  Pro- 
fessor Mousse. 

She  stood  up  and  gave  him  both  her  hands. 

"Monsieur  Gaspard,  now  I  understand  all  my  hus- 
band wrote  to  me  about  you.  .  .  .  You  are  a  fine 
man.  .  .  .  I'm  going  to  show  you  his  photo- 
graph." 

She  left  the  room  and  meanwhile  Gaspard  began 
to  wonder  whether  he  had  done  the  right  thing  by 
lying  to  her  about  her  husband's  death.  His  hesita- 
tion was  short  lived,  however. 

"You  poor  fool,"  he  said  to  himself.  "Mousse 
was  an  old  bachelor  ...  he  had  no  family.  What 
good  would  it  have  done  him?" 

Madame  Burette  came  back,  accompanied  by  her 
maid,  to  whom  she  said: 

"Marie,  .  .  .  this  gentleman  is  a  soldier  ...  he 
was  a  friend  of  your  master's.  .  .  .  My  husband  had 


298  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

a  beautiful  death,  Marie.  He  was  struck  by  a  bul- 
let in  the  forehead  and  as  he  fell  a  shell  came  along 
and  the  explosion  tore  the  earth  apart  and  covered 
up  his  body.  .  .  ." 

She  said  it  in  a  trembling  voice,  but  with  a  great 
feeling  of  pride.     The  servant  said: 

"How  wonderful,  Madame,  how  wonderful!" 
A  long  silence  followed,  during  which  the  hearts 
of  these  two  human  beings,  so  different  from  each 
other,  were  beating  together;  the  one  happy  at  the 
thought  that  his  imagination  had  enabled  him  to  give 
the  widow  some  happiness  in  her  tragic  sorrow;  the 
other  proud  and  cheerful,  thanks  to  her  visitor's 
efforts. 

When   he  left   Madame   Burette   Gaspard's   eyes 
were  shining. 

His  mother  asked  him  at  once: 
"Well,  did  you  find  it  easy  to  tell  her?" 
"Yes  .  .  .  but  I  told  it  to  her  in  my  own  way." 
He  took  his  family  to  the  Champs  Elysees  in  the 
beautiful  summer  evening.     A  golden  hue  seemed  to 
cover  trees  and  lawns  and  even  those  who  were  pass- 
ing by.     In  the  pure  air  of  this  delightful  evening 
Gaspard  enjoyed  an  immense  feeling  of  happiness, 
greater  than  at  any  other  time  of  his  life;  happy 
at  the  thought  that  he  had  done  his  duty  toward  his 
country  and  toward  his  friends;  happy  also  to  re- 
alize that  with  him  were  his  mother,  his  child  and  his 


PRIVATE    GASPARD  299 

wife — the  poor  old  woman  who  had  given  him  birth 
and  had  worked  all  her  life  for  him  .  .  .  and  Bi- 
biche,  whom  he  loved  more  than  ever.  Mingled  with 
these  happy  thoughts  was  a  slight  feeling  of  regret 
that  the  war  was  not  over  and  that  men  were  still 
being  killed. 

A  one-armed  newsboy  came  by  shouting  "Intran- 
sigeant!  Liberte!" 

He  spoke  to  the  boy: 

"Nothing  new,  eh?  ...  The  Russians  are  still  re- 
treating? Ah!  when  will  they  give  it  to  them  for 
good  and  end  it  all?" 

Bibiche  sighed,  while  Gaspard's  boy  repeated  after 
his  father:  "When  will  they  end  it  all?" 

Gaspard  resented  this  and  threatened  the  child 
with  dire  punishment,  but  the  youngster  ran  on 
ahead,  still  laughing  and  making  fun  of  his  father. 

Gaspard  was  red  with  anger,  and  called  out  to 
Bibiche  to  slap  the  boy's  face.  The  grandmother  in- 
tervened : 

"Oh,  leave  him  alone.  .   .  ." 

But  Gaspard  insisted  and  Bibiche  slapped  the 
child,  who  screamed  out  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 

"What  do  you  know  about  that!"  said  Gaspard. 
"Just  about  as  big  as  my  shoe  and  putting  on  airs 
already." 

"Oh,  putting  on  airs !"  said  the  grandmother. 

"Sure  he's  putting  on  airs  just  because  he's  got 


300  PRIVATE    GASPARD 

two  legs  and  I've  only  got  one.  Just  look  at  him ! 
Trying  to  show  off  in  front  of  his  father." 

The  youngster  had  stopped  crying  and  gave  his 
father  an  impertinent  look  as  they  turned  into  the 
Avenue  Alexander  III.  Gaspard  looked  sadly  at 
his  one  leg  and  continued: 

"We've  gone  and  had  ourselves  cut  to  pieces  and 
these  youngsters  are  the  ones  who  will  reap  the  bene- 
fits .  .  .  they'll  walk  all  over  us  .  .  ." 

As  he  passed  along  the  Grand  Palais,  however, 
he  added  in  a  strong  voice: 

"Well,  no  matter.  They  will  get  our  inheritance 
and  they  will  be  happy  .  .  .  but  the  Boches,  well, 
nobody  will  deny  that  we  were  the  ones  who  gave 
them  what  was  coming  to  them !" 

The  last  words  were  uttered  with  a  great  feeling 
of  pride,  and  Gaspard  looked  up  defiantly  as  if  he 
were  throwing  a  supreme  challenge  to  the  great  dome 
of  the  Invalides. 


THE   END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


J  UN  2  7  1977, 

DlSChflRHE-URI 


SEP  2  6 
ML  1  8  1978 


Form  L9-Series  444 


V 


3  1158  00234  1278 


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A     000052390    2 


